


Revel (In Our Time)

by musicofthespheres



Series: Before You Save Me: A Cyberpunk Vegebul AU [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Blade Runner - Freeform, Cyberpunk, F/M, Fallout 4 - Freeform, Future AU, Ghost in the Shell - Freeform, I take a lot of inspiration and elements from a lot of cyberpunk media, Science Fiction, please heed the warnings, there's also inspiration from the 100 and Travelers, this fic is rated E for two reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-02-16 05:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicofthespheres/pseuds/musicofthespheres
Summary: Rising from the ashes of the Red Ribbon scandal, ColdCorp sets out to do what its predecessor could not: create an android with human intuition and machine reflexes. While its Director prepares to seize power from a government he already controls from the shadows, ColdCorp's Project Saiyajin produces the ultimate in cybernetic accomplishment: Unit V-732, a "Company-made" hybrid of man and machine.Meanwhile, a group of rebel factions known collectively as the Railroad wages guerrilla warfare for the freedoms of all citizens, mechanical and otherwise. When the new unit hits the streets like a one-man military squadron and Railroad teams start dropping like flies, it's up to Bulma and the Saiyan Branch led by Bardock to neutralize the threat.Unfortunately, things aren't always that easy.





	1. Project Saiyajin

**Author's Note:**

> **Vegebulocracy Mini Bang 2019 Entry**
> 
>   
> This work has been nominated for [The Prince and the Heiress's Annual Awards 2019](http://theprinceandtheheiress.com/the-annual-awards)! Thank you so much!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> IT'S HERE! Though the creative side of this event wasn't nearly as long as our Big Bang, it still feels like it stretched for an eternity. I'm so excited to share this story with you because I've been wanting to write it for eons. 
> 
> Following on the heels of our successful Big Bang, we have an even MORE successful Mini Bang with so many more participants!! Thank you all SO SO SO much for all of your hard work, and to those who weren't participating but who cheered us all on from the sidelines, you're amazing. <3 
> 
> Thank you to rockykelboa for helping me develop this story from its infancy, Tashana Ambrosia for your helpful beta-reading eyes, and everyone else who's had a sneak peek in the past couple of months for your invaluable opinions.
> 
> This story was inspired by the song [Revel In Your Time by GUNSHIP](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYRZV8dV10w) (and a few other songs off their eponymous album as well), all of the excellent Cyberpunk media I've been consuming religiously for the past several months, and my general love of sci-fi. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> A couple of things to note: There will be both log entries and regular prose present throughout the stories. Dates are important, so please keep an eye on them!
> 
>   
>   
> Art by the amazing Rutbisbe (@rutisfree on Twitter). [Click here to retweet it from the master herself!](https://twitter.com/rutisfree/status/1124233757161132033)

I’m recording this because it could be the last thing I’ll ever say. The city I knew as home is teetering on the edge of radioactive oblivion, a three-hundred thousand degree baptism by nuclear fire. I’m not sorry, we had it coming. A surge of white-hot atonement will be our wake-up call. Hope for the future is now a stillborn dream.  
  
The bombs are starting to fall, and I’m rushing to meet my love. If I don’t make it, please… remember me. There is no more.  
  
GUNSHIP - Tech Noir

===============

Subject Saiya_001  
Project Saiyajin  
Technician’s Log #008  
October 24, 2091

Subject remains unresponsive. Shot of adrenaline injected into his heart per Dr. Dodoria. Nothing like this has been attempted before and reaction will be unpredictable.  
  
Brain function at normal capacity. Subject is on around the clock surveillance and is restrained in case of violence upon awakening.  
  
Subject will require extensive programming. Currently sourcing memory implants.  
  
Atmosphere in laboratory remains tense. Failure a real possibility and will mean abandoning Project Saiyajin, which would be an unacceptable sacrifice.

===============

Subject Saiya_001  
Project Saiyajin  
Technician’s Log #011  
October 27, 2091

Subject regained consciousness, immediately exposed to first reprogramming protocol. Best not to let him gain his bearings. According to doctor, subject is making exceptional progress.  
  
The Director visited the laboratory today. To the relief of all, he seems pleased with the project.

===============

Subject Saiya_001  
Project Saiyajin  
Technician’s Log #024  
November 22, 2091

It has taken 6 reprogramming sessions just to make the subject stop trying to kill us on sight every time we walk into the viewing room. He doesn’t yet know the difference between his handlers and his targets.  
  
His fists are all lacerated from pounding against the walls. Dr. D said the neural pathways have held up as expected and that the self-repair process is taking only a fraction of its usual time.  
  
It’s come to my attention that nobody actually reads these logs, so I’ve decided to stop sounding like a computer. 

===============

Subject Saiya_001  
Project Saiyajin  
Technician’s Log #27  
November 25, 2091

“Break him down before you build him up,” Dr. D said. If that’s not a broken man in that room, I don’t know what is. He’s done nothing but stare at the wall all day.  
  
I suggested giving him a personal log recording device once he’s capable of rational thought again. The team said they’d look into it. Feels good to feel appreciated, for once. Hopefully that’ll mean a lab tech of the month award coming up for me. 

===============

Subject Saiya_001  
Project Saiyajin  
Technician’s Log #35  
December 8, 2091

It’s been one hell of a week. The subject is almost field ready after a mad scramble to meet a shortened deadline. One last psych exam by that old broad working in Sector Delta and he’ll be cleared for his first mission.  
  
Excuse me while I wax poetic for a minute, but I feel almost like a parent whose child is about to start his first day of school. I hope to be chosen as his handler. Unfortunately for him, he can’t know he’s human or it’ll mess with his telemetry and god knows what else, according to Zarbon. They say he’s a tactical genius, so I trust his judgement. 

===============

Subject Saiya_001  
Project Saiyajin  
Technician’s Log #46  
December 22, 2091

He’s been doing great in the simulations. The Director is still wary of sending him out in the field, but with the government dangling a lucrative contract under his nose, it’ll only be a matter of time before he capitulates.  
  
If you’d told me when I started here that we’d have functioning super soldiers on the streets by the end of the century, I’d have laughed in your face. Now, here we are, with just over 8 years to spare. What a time to be alive. I’ve helped write history and I can’t tell a damn soul about it.

===============

Subject: Saiya_001  
Project Saiyajin  
Technician’s Log #64  
January 30, 2092

Dr. D was right! The final procedure was a total success. Even the implanted memories of his creation have taken hold without any complications, and his emotional responses are close to nil. He truly thinks he’s a machine, designation V-732.  
  
This is going to earn me a promotion for sure.

===============

January 31, 2092  
West City  
Project Saiyajin Laboratory

The corner of Zarbon’s lips quirked up in the facsimile of a smile. The Director’s trust in him had been well-placed. Every other project head had been summarily demoted, but Zarbon saw what they had all failed to consider: human beings on their own were weak, but no programmer had yet been able to endow a machine with intuition. 

As much as he was a man of logic, Zarbon couldn’t help but note the irony of this realization. Project Saiyajin rested on the foundation of a myriad failed attempts at creating the perfect AI, and indeed that had been his aim when he started. But now, as he watched the CCTV monitors from his office, he knew his shift in focus had been worth every ounce of risk. 

Had it failed, it would have meant his career and maybe his life.

===============

Internal memorandum #481  
To: All Project Saiyajin Staff  
Subject: Staff relocation  
July 2, 2092

As our achievement in the first quarter has garnered us industry-wide attention and numerous government contracts, staff from Project Saiyajin will begin receiving their new assignments effective immediately. With Saiya_001’s stability and success as a field operative, our Director feels confident that keeping only the core staff on board for this project will allow other sectors to expand and meet the growing need for our services.  
  
Please open the attached document to learn where and to whom you will report and do so immediately.  
  
\--Zarbon

===============

Internal communication via uplink  
Authorization V-732  
To: Project Saiyajin Core; Director  
Subject: Tactical Update  
May 5, 2093

>V-732 reporting  
>Target SL-42 terminated  
>Target SL-43 terminated  
>Target SL-44 terminated  
>Asset TK-91 relocated to position GAMMA  
>V-732 signing off

===============

August 27, 2095  
ColdCorp Headquarters  
Director’s Office

The Director steepled his fingers in front of his nose. The video replayed at a fraction of its original framerate, but V-732 was still a blur. Every so often, the camera would capture a still image showcasing his ferocity and unmistakably unique brutality, though their quality was paltry at best. Even after all this time, he was still their most efficiently violent creation. The Director suspected it had something to do with the base stock. 

When the government had come knocking, looking for more super-soldiers like V-732, the Director had been only too happy to comply. There was a war going on, after all, and if he didn’t contribute to the safety of his nation, then what kind of patriot was he? Besides, he wasn’t deaf to the Doomsday warnings touted by newscasters on every network. Tensions overseas were bubbling over and it was only a matter of time before skirmishes broke out on home soil. 

The Director had seen the writing on the wall for some time, now. He’d been the one to supply half of their enemy’s arsenals, after all, but he wasn’t going to be above-ground to witness the world go up in flames when all hell finally broke loose. Work on his state-of-the-art mountain bunker was nearly complete. After he transferred his personnel and their families there, he was going to become the hegemon of his own subterranean empire.

===============

Internal memorandum #698  
To: Project Saiyajin Core; V-732 (Saiya_001)  
Subject: Mission Parameter Update  
January 2, 2096

Effective immediately, cease all current missions and await further orders per the Director. Thank you for your cooperation.  
  
\--Zarbon

===============

Project Saiyajin  
Overseer’s Log #256  
January 2, 2096

This Railroad movement is becoming too big a nuisance to ignore. SpecOps intelligence indicates they will become an insurmountable threat if we do not intervene. They have managed to put a sizable dent into government assets. A response has become necessary. With the war stretching in-house resources thin, they are outsourcing to ColdCorp.  
  
V-732 has much to offer. He remains our most stable asset, and upon successful implementation of the forthcoming directive, Project Saiyajin will move forward with new subjects for the first time since its inception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join the [Vegebulocracy Discord Server](https://discord.gg/XvYtD2v) to see all the Mini Bang entries in one place and hear news about upcoming events!


	2. Neutralize

May 1, 2096  
Railroad Base  
Saiyan Branch

The mid-morning light filtered in through the grimy, high-set windows, illuminating Bulma’s workspace with a yellow-tinted glow. Half-finished projects lay strewn across the table in her own personal brand of organized chaos; at least three tools were in danger of falling off the edge, but she was too preoccupied with her reflection to notice. 

Frowning in the mirror, she rubbed at the giant smudge of grease on her forehead with a wet cloth. It made her look like she had an enormous, black unibrow, and she was going to _kill_ Krillin for not telling her about it sooner. She watched him through the mirror as he went about his business behind her, but her calculations for his comeuppance were interrupted when Goku strode into the warehouse and hollered her name at the top of his lungs. 

Their fence, Yamcha, followed hot on his heels, red-faced and hiding behind the Saiyan operative. He was scared shitless of Bulma despite her efforts to woo him otherwise. 

She finished cleaning the mark off her face--as much as she could, anyway. She no longer resembled a Frida Kahlo self-portrait, at the very least. Not that she thought unibrows were a bad thing, it’s just that her fair skin and blue hair didn’t exactly match the famous artist’s dark Latina complexion. 

Casting one last murderous glare in Krillin’s direction, Bulma swivelled on her chair to face their guest. “Hey, Yamcha,” she said, accompanied by a tiny, flirtatious wave. Usually, they met him in the field to trade their shipments for usable tech and parts. It wasn’t often he paid them a house call. “What brings you to Saiyan HQ?”

“Blueprints, caches. That sort of things.” Goku said. “G’won, tell her what you know,” he instructed Yamcha with a flick of his chin. 

“Uh, here,” Yamcha replied, shoving a hard drive into her hands. “Everything’s on there.” At least this time he was able to maintain eye contact with her for longer than 0.02 seconds, but the victory was short-lived; he turned tail and made to flee before Bulma called after him.

“What, aren’t you going to help me parse this?”

He stopped halfway to the door. “Uh.” 

“Maybe later,” Goku interjected, then turned to Bulma. “We’ve gotta talk to my dad about tonight. He radioed me earlier and said there’s been a change of plans.” 

Yamcha took Bulma’s momentary distraction as his means of escape and made it out the door before she looked his way again. “What sort of plans?” 

“New target. Rumour on the street is there’s a new Company-made who’s been taking out our allies. He’s been making a ruckus in the outer skirts, but a team inside the city just took a major hit to their numbers.” 

“When was Bardock planning to tell me all this? How come {you} always get to find out these things first?” She huffed, and was on her feet and marching to their leader’s door before Goku had the chance to respond. 

“I’m his son,” he chuckled, jogging to catch up with her. 

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Nepotism at its finest.”

===============

“We’re going hunting,” Goku said with a grin so innocent, it was hard for Bulma to believe the man was a trained killer. He pumped his fist and whooped, leaping to swat the rafter twenty feet above their heads. It looked like the tune-up she’d given his implants had improved his jump height by at least a foot.

“Don’t smile like that, it’s creepy.” 

Goku hit the ground and rolled back into standing position, his grin never wavering. “We haven’t gone on a mission together in _months_ ,” he replied. “Let me be excited.” 

“So our target is this new Company-made. And nobody’s been able to get a clear image of him?” 

“Nunno,” Goku said with a shrug. “Maybe it’s on that drive _Yamcha_ gave you.” He exaggerated the name like they were on a schoolyard playground and he was teasing her about her crush. 

“You said it was blueprints and locations.”

“Who knows what he put on there. Maybe he included a love letter.” 

“Fat chance,” Bulma guffawed, but picked up the hard drive and examined it again. The custom articulation looked like it was built to interface with her implant. She smirked. Maybe there wouldn’t be a love letter, but that fact alone screamed loud and clear his feelings toward her. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll have time to go through all of this data before we have to leave. Get the rest of the team to my bench before we go, I want to make sure everything’s in order.”

“You just gave us a tune-up yesterday, B. It’s gonna be fine, I promise.” 

Bulma exhaled through her nose. “We shouldn’t underestimate who we’re up against. If the Company is getting angry with us, we shouldn’t let our guard down.” 

Her companion stood for a long moment, regarding her silently before nodding and going to do as she asked.

===============

May 1, 2096  
West City  
Railroad Pickup Site Namek

Bardock expertly maneuvered the hover car into the narrow alleyway. Powering down the thrusters, he turned toward his team, all shoved into the tiny vehicle like sardines. “We have limited intel, but I’ll give you the breakdown of what you should expect based on what we do know.” 

As he went over the suspected threat they would be dealing with, Goku leaned over and whispered in Bulma’s ear: “You think it’s SpecOp?” 

“Sounds like it could be. ColdCorp’s in bed with the government, makes sense they’d come after the people responsible for stealing their shit.” 

Bardock shot them a look. “Pay attention, you two, or you’re going to wind up in a gutter.” 

“Yes sir,” Goku said, sitting up straighter and re-focusing his attention on his father.

As drop time approached, Bulma fidgeted apprehensively. While she was a trained markswoman, her role on the team was more akin to field medic, with a specialty in cybernetics. They called her the organic mechanic, even though her skills lent themselves more to the technologic. The nickname was a little injoke, coming from a character from some classic post-apocalypse story from the 2010s. If only they had known back then what the future {really} looked like: still not enough to go around, still one man in charge of the needs of thousands, but all with a shiny, day-glo corporate veneer and one catchy slogan after another. 

Bulma was one of the leading-edge street mechanics, using the knowledge she gained from her father to design and build just about anything the Railroad could possibly want or need. Any surplus was traded away through Yamcha or his network of fences. Her illicit modifications were the talk of the black market. 

It had only been half a decade since carbon-based mechanical components had been made available for civilian use. Previously, the graphene nanotechnology had been military-only. This was going to be her first mission since she’d implanted Goku’s latest augmentation: an experimental carbomechanical component that would allow him to focus his body’s energy into a weaponized blast. It was untested outside their rudimentary facility, and if something went wrong at a crucial moment, they were all fucked. So it was her job to make sure everything ran smoothly. 

It didn’t matter that she was a pioneer of new technology; she was still human at her core, and change still frightened her. She’d much rather deal with a malfunction in Bardock’s entirely silicon telepathic brainwave-reading module than something only tested in abandoned warehouses. Bardock, due to the aforementioned module, picked up on her uneasiness from his spot in the driver’s seat. He looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry. You haven’t failed me yet, Briefs.” 

She smiled back at him but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yet” meant there was still time for everything to go wrong.

“ _Drop in T-Minus 10, 9, 8-_ ” a voice crackled over her comm. When the countdown reached zero, it was go-time.

===============

They had known he was good. They had known he was _fast_.

They were totally unprepared for the utter ruthlessness with which he felled their team, cutting their six into three before Bulma could blink. In the next microseconds, as her conscious mind shut down and her training kicked in, time seemed to slow down. She activated the forcefield that was supposed to incapacitate him. The blue glow of the activated shield flickered and he was gone, just like that. Bulma knew he’d be watching as they made their escape. She dragged injured Goku and Bardock back into the car, scavenged what parts she could from her fallen brethren, and activated their Last Resort modules. Once back in the car, she activated its homing routine and slumped backward into the seat to cry. 

Goku and Bardock had regained consciousness by the time the car parked itself inside the warehouse garage. Bulma silently led them to her work station and hooked them up to her monitors, frowning with concern at the read-outs. This incident had set them back. Their numbers were low as it was, and two of their three dead operatives had highly specialized combat experience that the Saiyan branch was sorely going to miss. 

Once she was confident that the two men were going to be fine, relatively speaking, she hooked herself up to the machine. It took seconds for the diagnostics to come back, and they were a mess--and she worried she wouldn’t be able to fix it herself. She’d be damned if she let any of Yamcha’s greasemonkey med-chanic friends bumble around in her delicately-wired neurons. 

If only her father were here. 

“How’s it lookin’, doc?” Goku asked, interrupting her worried thoughts. He sat backwards on a chair with his arms folded over the backrest like some over-friendly middle school teacher, ignorant of the gashes and massive bruises forming on his arms. He eyed the screen too, but she knew he wouldn’t make sense of it. He wasn’t the kind of guy who cared about technical readouts and the finer points of augmentation installation. 

“Remind me never to assume the coast is clear ever again,” she groaned. “Rookie mistake. It’s like he was waiting to ambush me as a particular Fuck You. Did it feel like that to you?” 

Goku shrugged. “Dunno. I wasn’t really conscious.” He seemed too nonchalant about the whole thing. People had _died_. She wished she could let things go as easily as he did.

He was their fastest operative and their most valuable asset. All the other fighters were good, sure. But the augments Bulma had given him placed Goku on a completely different level--ability enhancers, speed boosters, and the ability to draw from his own energy to create powerful blasts capable of knocking down buildings.

Bulma pulled the EM strips off her neck with a wince, catching the fine hairs on the back of her neck as she tore it away. “You would have been conscious if I had sped up your boosters.” 

“Listen, B, if you’re going to find something to blame yourself for every time a mission doesn’t go as planned, at least make it about something you actually fucked up on.” 

The curse sounded wrong coming from Goku’s mouth, but he was right. Of course there was no way she could have known what they were in for, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her father would have foreseen the problem and fixed it before it ever became an issue. His were some big shoes to fill. 

“Our augments were fine, we just didn’t know what we were dealing with. And you, me, and my dad came back alive. That’s a lot more than can be said for the other ‘Road teams.” 

“Let me just fix your damn boosters,” Bulma muttered, standing and forcing Goku to take her place in the chair. She could fix her scrambled data later.

===============

A solemn atmosphere hung over the Saiyan Railroad base that evening. They hadn’t lost that many people at once since Bardock had come onboard. Combined with the threat of an unknown enemy that had flattened their best and brightest on their asses, the loss meant a serious hit to the crew’s morale.

Bulma cancelled her date with Yamcha’s hard drive, knowing she’d need to spend her evening at the drawing board. She would see him in the morning when she inevitably had to trade some of her contraband tech for parts, anyway, and could ask about it then. He was their most reliable fence, but he didn’t know the details of their operation and Bulma preferred to keep it that way. The fewer people who got embroiled in this mess, the better. 

She wouldn’t trade it for anything. Despite walking around with a figurative target on her back at all times, Bulma had become part of a family who stuck together no matter what. They never left a man down in the field, turned out in droves for Railroad funerals, and crowdsourced from the many to assist the needs of an individual. Before her own flesh-and-blood family had come across them, Bulma had felt all alone in a cruel, vicious world.

===============

“Briefs,” Bardock called out to her before she headed home for the night. He strode over, heavy-booted footsteps echoing against walls. He looked troubled. “You were the last one out of the car. Did you manage to get a shot of him?”

Bulma shook her head. “He was faster than anything I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t set the camera fast enough to capture his speed. Do you think he’s a new model?” 

His nostrils flared in response. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and gritted his teeth. “I managed to get a glimpse of his brainwave patterns before the forcefield went up.” 

“Brainwaves? You mean that thing wasn’t a Company-made?” 

“There’s no doubt that he was. No augment I’ve seen can make a person move like that.” 

Bulma believed him. Bardock had been a military commander before the Whistleblowers came. His hands (and body) had seen their fair share of tech pass through before he went AWOL. She wondered if he ever regretted getting sucked into that craziness, with everything it cost him: his rank, his brothers-in-arms, even his eldest son. 

But if he was right, that would mean that ColdCorp had achieved the impossible, something Red Ribbon hadn’t even come close to accomplishing: they had simulated the mind of a human being with nothing but silicon and wires.


	3. Perception

May 3, 2096   
West City   
Shenron Heights Apartment Block

The Director decided that V-732 required a base of operations. His mission thus far had been highly successful, with dozens of Railroad operatives neutralized and would-be guerilla fighters dispersing in droves. So the company had given him an apartment in the city, a flat which was sparsely decorated at best: spotless white walls with no holes or scuffs, pristine but plain vinyl counters, laminate flooring. It was nothing special. At a cursory glance, there was no evidence anybody had ever lived there, but when he did a preliminary sweep for cameras and bugs, V-732 discovered a loose panel at the back of the bedroom closet. He pried it open, revealing an old, forgotten poster tucked in behind.

Scanning...  
Subject identified.  
“Red Ribbon promotional poster” c. 2072, classification: Memorabilia.  
>Information  
Searching...  
The poster was given to the first 1000 customers to purchase Red Ribbon Model A-19 androids, an affordable personal assistant created by the company for worldwide distribution. This limited edition item bears the designation 458/1000.

In the split second it took to search his memory bank database, V-732 felt a hint of recognition at the smiling faces staring back at him. It was gone before he could process the sensation.

>Appraise  
Searching Internet database…  
Last known auction of same or similar memorabilia: 740 credits.

V-732 considered the flimsy thing in his hands for a long moment. He didn’t need the money; all of his expenses were cared for by the company. But it filled him with the strangest sense of longing, and until he could figure out what caused it, he decided to pin the poster to the wall in his living room.

===============

May 12, 2096  
West City  
Site Epsilon

Today’s mission did not hold much interest for V-732. His mission parameters were forever expanding, and now his specifications included observing the human inhabitants of this sector and keeping an eye out for suspicious behaviour. V-732 thought the Director a little paranoid to think that an ordinary civilian could derail his end game plans, but he didn’t bother uploading that through to his personal log. 

So far, all he’d learned was that the citizens of West City were a unique breed of stupid. Every one of them lived in their own little world, acting like they were completely unaware of the maelstrom brewing under their noses. They were content to turn a blind eye to the massive power imbalance of their society if it meant a shot at their own happily ever after. Dutifully, they ignored the less fortunate, the pitiful maggots who occupied every street corner and stretch of empty space between shops, too distracted by the bright in-your-face neon that begged for their attention instead. Most of them didn’t even bother to wear face masks in this part of the downtown. Perhaps they reasoned that they were far enough away from the industrial core to be affected by the contaminated air. 

V-732’s lip curled into a sneer. He was an imposter in their midst and they didn’t care. One day, their perfect little worlds would shatter and reality would hit them in the face with the force of a hundred megatons.

===============

May 18, 2096  
07:12 hours

Incoming transmission…   
Encrypting…  
Sender: Project Saiyajin   
Communication via uplink  
Mission parameters updated. Seek new objective. Operation to be carried out at 2100 hours. 

V-732’s eyes snapped open. His cognitive processes were still initializing, but the new objective had already become a blip on his HUD along with a countdown timer. Once he was fully booted, he undocked himself and stood in the center of the flat. A patch of orange sunlight filtered through the window and warmed his skin as he made his way to the window. 

The permanent haze resting over the city hung even lower than usual today, a polluted fog that caressed the windows high-rises with its insidious kisses. At least it made the sunrise beautiful.

Internal communication via uplink   
Authorization V-732  
To: Project Saiyajin Core; Director  
Subject: Tactical Update  
May 18, 2093

V-732 reporting  
>Mission update acknowledged.  
>Unit proceeding to tactically advantageous position.   
>V-732 signing off

The apartment had a balcony. V-732 leaned against the railing and watched the remnants of the sunrise streak across the sky. The skyline lay silhouetted against a vivid array of pinks and reds, enhanced by his color processors. This is the city he would call home once he outlived his usefulness as a field operative. Once that occurred, he would be transferred to the custody of another division and given other assignments until the time came for his recall back to the ColdCorp underground. 

He flexed his hand and winced as he over-extended his fingers backward. One day, he was going to be a glorified computer shaped like a human being, serving the whims of his master as they lived out their days remembering what life was like above ground.

In essence, he already was.

===============

The Railroad had become infamous back at HQ for their precision and tactical prowess. In their infancy, they’d been disorganized at best--no more a nuisance than a few lone mosquitoes on a spring night, and no different from the countless other dissenting groups who had arisen and been squashed without a second thought. But their members had something every other insurgent group lacked: dedication. Almost overnight, their tactics changed; they became a cohesive unit, they worked smarter, more efficiently and in smaller strike teams. They began putting a noticeable dent in the government’s bottom line. What had begun as a few errant mosquitoes had transformed into a swarm of gadflies worthy of ColdCorp’s special attention.

The long-range scope on V-732’s fulmination rifle automatically tracked his targets, a group of Railroad operatives who were readying to receive a shipment. Their team spread out; some ascended the fire escape of a building a kilometer away, others kept watch from nearby rooftops, and still others prepared to provide ground support. V-732 so far remained undetected. His mission parameters had been escalating over the past weeks, beginning with neutralizations in the city’s periphery and culminating in brazen take-downs at her downtown core.

V-732 was unsure if his handler included pride in his programming, or if it was the residual pathways in his semi-organic brain, but he felt a swelling sense of accomplishment as he carved a path through the heart of the city. As 2100 hours approached, his artificial pulmonary and endocrine systems kicked into overdrive.

Something wasn’t right. The operatives weren’t moving in pattern-typical Theta formation as his mission readout had reported. Just as he picked up movement in the building’s periphery, his auditory and proximity sensors went haywire and overloaded his HUD. It crackled, glitched, and then went dark. Before his processors rebooted, he had been rendered effectively blind. He went still. 

V-732 was no longer alone.

===============

He’d been made. The intruder had seen his face in the seconds it took for his systems to come back online. Months of drills flooded into his memory. _Do not let them see your face. In the event of compromise, return directly to HQ for debriefing and recalibration._ Something else nagged at what would have been his subconscious, were he organic: _He knew this man._

The wild hair and determined eyes hidden in the depths of his memory circuits, scraped like they’d been almost wiped away, meshed with the image of the man standing in front of him. _How is this possible?_

His processors were destabilizing. Intrusive thoughts bit at him from every angle, memories at war with each other for dominance. 

_Your handler won’t be back from his sabbatical for another week. Nobody has to know you were compromised._

In the split second it took for V-732 to decide to abandon the mission and go dark, the intruder had disappeared. He knew his eyes deceived him; people didn’t vanish into thin air like that. The world seemed to move in slow motion with each footstep he took toward the exit. 

A voice echoed in his skull, a memory that wasn’t his: _If you go into that corridor, you’re not coming out alive. If we can’t follow, you’re not coming out at all._ He burst through the door and into the hallway.


	4. Analysis

May 18, 2096  
Railroad Base  
Saiyan Branch

“He’s been in there for over an hour,” Bulma groused. She downed the last of her too-cold coffee, face contorting with the bitterness of the ground-filled drink and the burn of the vodka she’d spiked it with. 

Krillin stared into the mirror, ignoring her and prodding at his cranial implants. “Did we pick up something that’s interfering with these? They’re malfunctioning again, and it only happens when we’re at HQ.” He caught her eye in the reflection and raised a brow. 

Bulma shrugged absently and continued tapping her fingers against her mug. Life had slowly been returning to normal for the Saiyan branch. They’d held the funerals last week, and she was finally beginning to feel like herself again. “It’s the first meeting of all the Railroad leaders in over a years, and he doesn’t even let his best agents in on it. What gives?” 

Goku sat in the corner, calibrating his implants with a few test shots across empty space. Almost everyone had gone home for the day, so he had plenty of room to fire the _ki_ blasts without worrying about casualties. “I’m curious too,” he said, “but it’s only a digital meeting. He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

“Tell _you_ when he’s ready,” she muttered, pressing a remote on the underside of her chair. Krillin’s forehead lit up like a Christmas tree.

“The fuck?” he muttered before throwing his hands up and turning back toward them. “You’re sure you can’t fix it?” 

Bulma shrugged again. “Bigger fish to fry.” She swirled the rest of the coffee in her mug before deciding it just wasn’t worth it. “Goku,” she barked, startling her friend and causing him to blast one of the support columns by accident. They all stared as the smoke cleared, ready to run in case the ceiling decided to collapse, but he’d only done superficial damage. The column was barely scorched. “...As I was saying, do you know why your dad’s acting like this? Does he recognize the model, or something?” 

“He hasn’t shown me the picture yet.” 

Bulma pulled up the pilfered image from the data drive attached to her ocular implant. She’d obtained it without Bardock’s knowledge, more out of curiosity than anything else. It was blurry, but her image extraction algorithm had done a decent job of clearing it up--enough to see that the Company-made who’d been attacking them was actually rather handsome. The latest models had been lacking in the attractiveness department. Not that it _mattered_ , but it meant the government had stopped caring about aesthetics in favour of sheer quantity. For every Company-made they liberated, a dozen more would take its place back at the storage facility. But this model was special. Bulma absently traced a finger mid-air along the shadow of his jawline as if doing so would reveal all of his secrets. As far as she could tell, he was the closest thing to a perfect model they’d made. 

Had Bardock deduced the same thing?

===============

The lamp on Bardock’s desk illuminated his whole office space with a faint yellow glow. The splash of his silhouette across the opaque glass on his door reminded Bulma of the opening shot for every film noir detective movie she’d ever seen. Rapping her knuckles against the door, she listened to see if he was still there after her patrol duty.

“Come in,” Bardock sighed. 

The door showed its age, opening with a long creak. Bardock looked like he’d aged 10 years in the past two hours, but he pulled another chair out for Bulma to sit down on. 

“That bad, huh?” she asked. “What exactly are we dealing with?” 

Bardock slid a hand down his face and answered her with a question of his own. “How long have you been with the Railroad, three, four years?” 

“About that, yeah. Why?” 

Avoiding her eyes while he lit up a hand-rolled cigarette, he grunted noncommittally. “Right. Well, you know I’m ex-military.” 

“Obviously. What’s that got to do with anything?” 

“I wasn’t alone when I left the corps. My commanding officer and I left together-- we had a pact, said that if shit went down… we’d get the hell outta dodge. It wasn’t gonna be easy. We both had families. We had to relocate, live life on the fringes of society for a while. But this spunky coalition of guerilla fighters found us and brought us into their fold. Things started looking up, we got to use our expertise for the greater good, finally made something out of the coalition. Helped make it into the Railroad.” Bardock stared into the middle distance and paused, letting the memories wash over him. 

“One by one, our children started growing up. Started asking to be part of the missions. Goku’s older brother was the first. But then my CO’s son came of age, asked to be inducted. We started taking them on routine missions, nothing too dangerous. Everything was pretty quiet for a while.

“It was another day, another shipment, but something felt weird.” Bardock paused to take a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke and tainting the already dingy air. “It was a fucking ambush. We should have seen it coming; the signs were all there, but we were riding the high of the last successful liberation. Twenty Company-mades in one go, all intact... it was almost too good to be true. It fucking _was_. We were almost home when one of them turned rogue on us. It was like somebody flipped a switch. Most of us made it out, but his boy…” 

Bulma deduced the rest. There were rumours that the Company took people. “Forced recruitment,” Bardock had called it once. He set his mouth into a hard, miserable line before turning his dark gaze back to her. 

“I thought he’d been taken and Shanghai’d off who knows where to serve overseas, no chance of getting him back. We thought it was meant to be a lesson. ‘How dare you think you could leave us and be safe.’ We should have known better.” 

“What’s the point, Bardock?” Bulma asked quietly. 

“This is the holopic I grabbed today.” He displayed the same image Bulma had been studying for the past two hours and let her look at it while he rummaged through his desk drawers. He pulled out an old photo frame with an ancient, artifact-y digital image that must have been over two decades old. Bardock and another man with familiar sharp, spiky hair wore fatigues in the familiar colours of the ever-present military. “That… _thing_ is wearing his son’s face. They took him, and butchered him, and turned him into that monstrosity. They made him into a weapon.” Bardock’s voice cracked and broke Bulma’s heart. 

“The brainwaves you read?” 

“Human. Entirely human. Heavily modified, but it’s definitely him.”

“What’s his name?”

“His name is Vegeta.”


	5. Mission Failure

May 19, 2096  
13:26 hours

Incoming transmission…  
Encrypting…  
Sender: Project Saiyajin  
Communication via uplink  
  
Transmit previous mission update at once.  
  
Mission parameters updated. Seek and destroy objective immediately. 

Internal communication via uplink  
Authorization V-732  
To: Project Saiyajin Core; Director  
Subject: Tactical Update  
May 19, 2093

>V-732 reporting  
>Mission update acknowledged.  
>Previous mission failed due to unit malfunction.  
>Cause: unknown.  
>Repairs initiated at 23:31  
>Repairs completed 03:59  
>Unit moving to intercept new target.

Disorientation was an unfamiliar concept for V-732. But as his synapses warred with the intrusive thoughts and memories fighting their way to the surface, he could think of no other word to describe the absolute misery he was experiencing. 

His instincts told him to seek out the man from last night, the one whose unruly hair and sharp features had awakened some dormant memory cascade, and in turn, reactivated a forgotten region in his brain. He didn’t know if it was his own thoughts or the fake (were they fake?) memories screaming--  
**_Trust him with your life!_**  
His energy reserves were running low, and there was no way the grimy building in which he now found himself had the kind of technology required to keep him going. He’d be lucky if there was power flowing to its sockets at all. The diagnostic and repair sequence he had initiated last night had drained him, but it had also failed to purge these misfiring neurons. It was a lose-lose situation. 

The splintering stairs creaked in protest as he lowered himself down step by step. Through the haze in the air and the fog in his mind, a fresh memory, one he could claim as _his _filled his mind: he’d seen that man recently. V-732 was supposed to kill him. Flashing images of a forcefield and a half-dead team played in his mind’s eye.__

His navigational processes kicked in and guided him impulsively toward home.

============

May 20, 2096  
West City  
Shenron Heights Apartment Block

V-732 knew he was a weapon. He’d been molded by his creators and aimed at whomever they wished to destroy to further their agenda. That was his purpose, a simple fact of his existence. So why had his disorientation crystalized into doubt? Had the man in the doorway done something to him? He’d been running on the assumption that these memories belonged to him, but that was absurd. Somehow, they’d remotely planted these notions in his memory core, attempted to manipulate him into doing _their_ bidding. He was at the center of a tug-of-war, being ripped apart from opposing sides. 

The repairs he had attempted had not worked. Whatever insidious thing they’d planted in his system, it ran deeper than a simple surface attempt to fix. If all else failed, he’d be recalled to HQ, interrogated about his failings, and reset. His sense of self-preservation screamed at him to find a different way. If he had to track down the people responsible for this mess and take them out to a one, then so be it. 

It was time to take a walk, curfew be damned. He’d find whoever was responsible for this mess and drag them back to ColdCorp himself to be dealt with. 

The abandoned streets were the perfect place to have an identity crisis. A thousand neon signs illuminated his struggle, casting brilliant shades of pink and blue onto his psyche’s silent civil war. A patrol car whizzed by, paying him no heed as he disappeared into the shadows. 

A past that didn’t belong to him echoed loud as thunder. _Pay it no heed _, he told himself, but he couldn’t hold back. Whoever did this was using a weapon his logic processors couldn’t handle.__

A tear slipped down his face.

If machines weren’t supposed to feel emotions, why did this heartache feel so _real _?__

===============

May 23, 2096  
West City  
Shenron Heights Apartment Block

V-732 awoke with a gasp. The lingering sensation of hands scrabbling at his throat did nothing to quell the rising panic he felt surging through his veins. Somewhere in the distance he heard the crackling voice of his memories, like he was listening in on a shortwave conversation. 

This was a new one. “All operatives in position,” the voice said. 

“You sure this info is good?” a female voice asked. “This is civilian housing.”

“Affirmative. If all goes well, we’ll meet at the safehouse later. If he puts up a fight you can’t win, call for retreat. We don’t need any more casualties.” 

“You got it.”

Incoming transmission…  
Encrypting…  
Sender: Project Saiyajin  
Communication via uplink  
  
Mission parameters updated. Red alert. Incoming incursion. Remain at coordinates at await further instructions. 

V-732’s night vision mode slowly disengaged as the navy blue of the pre-dawn sky gave way to the first streaks of red and orange indicating the sun was approaching the horizon. His recharge cycle had been interrupted by the mission update. 

The Railroad agents in the building across from him were already in position by the time he had a visual. The voices that had awoken him earlier continued their conversation. They hadn’t been memories after all. 

At least this saved him the trouble of finding them on his own. He was torn as he watched them. Should he seek them out on his own, demand an answer for the torment that had plagued him for the last several days? Or should he await instructions as he’d been commanded?

The thought of going rogue thrilled him. HQ was so far away, and the answers he sought were here _now _. Why wait?__

__There was a flash of blue in the apartment across the way and one floor down. The curtains fluttered, like somebody had been caught watching him and withdrew to avoid detection._ _

__“Go-time,” the memory-voice said._ _

__V-732 heard the distinct sound of an energy weapon charging up and hit the floor as glass exploded around him._ _

____

06:06 hours

Incoming transmission…  
Encrypting…  
Sender: Project Saiyajin  
Communication via uplink  
New targets assigned. Seek and destroy at all costs.


	6. Incursion

May 23, 2096  
West City  
Shenron Heights Apartment Block

“Target is on the move!” Bulma shouted into her comm. Her newly-upgraded augments tracked him with little difficulty, where he’d previously been a near-invisible blur.

He’d taken cover the instant Goku had shot an energy blast at him from one floor up, waiting a beat before flipping upright and launching himself through the broken glass. He landed with a _thud _on the fire escape outside her window. If she didn’t move quickly, she wouldn’t stand a chance. But they had taken every precaution.__

Bardock stood ready in the apartment hallway with the sonic turret they’d borrowed from their sister branch in the West City outskirts. “How do you know this is going to work?” she asked him, taking over control of the device so he could move to their plan B. 

“It’s set to disrupt the uplink technology ColdCorp uses. It should give us a window of maybe five, six hours to figure out how to turn it off for good.” 

“That’s not a lot of time.” 

“It’ll have to do. I’ll watch your six.” Bardock tossed her a remote control for the turret. “You’ve got this.” 

Bulma took position behind the cumbersome device, running through the safety checklist even though she knew Bardock had already done the same. Protocol first: always check your shit. “We don’t even know if it’s really _him _, Bardock. He could be a copy.”__

__“We’ll deal with that later. You have your orders.”_ _

__Scenario after scenario ran through Bulma’s mind. What if the turret wasn’t enough? What if he found a different way in and ambushed her from behind? Her heart pounded as she waited for him to burst through the door._ _

__The turret had him on his knees before she could even register his presence. He was no longer the terrifying blur that had killed three of her teammates earlier that month._ _

__Now he had a face. A name._ _

__She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy watching him suffer, his hands gripping his head as he struggled against the turret’s crippling effect. The bastard had killed a lot of good agents. Good _people _. But when his expression mutated into determination and he fought his impulse to curl up in a ball, she faltered.___ _

____He forced his dark eyes open, fixing her in a glare that turned from murderous to begging for mercy._ _ _ _

____But when he started yelling, clutching his head and begging to be left in peace, begging for them to let him go, she faltered. Donning a pair of heavy duty earmuffs to block out the incapacitating effects of the turret, Bulma approached him with trepidation._ _ _ _

____His face contorted with pure agony._ _ _ _

____“Reinforcements to my position,” she murmured into her comm, her thumb ready to initiate the deactivation sequence._ _ _ _

_____“We’re behind you,” _Goku said.__ _ _ _ _

______Bulma drew her flux revolver and aimed it at his head. With one hand, she went over the deactivation sequence by rote. With the other, her finger twitched against the trigger as he fell limp, no longer pinned in place by the sonic pulses._ _ _ _ _ _

______His body remained motionless, but his face remained twisted with the echoes of unimaginable pain. Bulma chanced to approach him, knowing she was risking her life to do so. He was still fast, even if he was crippled. “Vegeta,” she said, stopping short of shaking him back to the present. “My name is Bulma. I’m with the Railroad, and I’m here to rescue you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______She jumped back as he twitched and let out a low groan. She couldn’t hear what he said next, but his lips formed the words _target acquired _and his hand shot out to grab her ankle.___ _ _ _ _ _

________He missed, and she fired a warning shot at the floor next to his head. The resulting reaction melted a crater into the floor. “We have you down and surrounded. Your uplink is dead. Come with me, Vegeta,” she said, crouching at a distance and staring him in the eyes. “I can help you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________His eyes were like gateways to an endless void, swirling with a maelstrom of awe, hatred, and confusion. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “You’re real.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Flesh and blood,” she confirmed. “And a few spare parts.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Are you with _them _?” Vegeta propped himself up to get a better view of the room, brows furrowing.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Who?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I heard other voices.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I didn’t come here alone, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bulma stood and put distance between them as he struggled to his feet. Something seemed Off._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He tilted his head, scanning her from head to toe, like he was trying to put together the pieces of an incomplete puzzle. “I tried to kill you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Oh, good, he was self-aware. Bulma couldn’t help the sneer pulling at her lips. “I know.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Take me to him.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Bulma raised her eyebrows in a silent question._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I am malfunctioning. I must speak with the man responsible for implanting these memories at once,” Vegeta pressed, a flash of unreadable emotion passing over his face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Those are _your _memories, Vegeta,” Bulma quietly informed him. “I know what you are, and I can prove it to you.” He took an angry step forward at the same time she whispered “ _Bardock _,” and crumpled onto the floor before his foot could hit the ground.______________

___===============_ _ _

May 23, 2096  
West City  
Railroad Safehouse Oozaru

Bulma had fallen asleep. 

When she awoke and looked over at her patient, Vegeta’s dark, suspicious eyes turned abruptly away. He struggled pointedly against the bonds holding him to the worn-out hospital bed before glaring at her again.

“He’s awake,” she murmured into her comm. 

“ _I know,” _Bardock said. “I’m watching the feeds. He’s been staring at you for the last ten minutes.”__

__Unsettling, but not unexpected. Bulma shook the hair out of her eyes and watched their captive studiously avoid her gaze. “Do you know who I am?” she asked, partly to see if he remembered anything from before being hit square in the chest with an electrostatic net, and partly to check she hadn’t damaged his speech processors when removing his uplink. It had been a troubling surgery, but she thought she’d gotten through it without harming him._ _

__His mouth pulled into a tight line, one muscle above his lip twitching with annoyance before repeating what he’d said earlier: “Take me to the man who implanted these false memories. They are causing me to malfunction.”_ _

__The diagnostic readout was confusing, to say the least. Vegeta’s hippocampus had been extensively modified and restructured. Whoever had done the procedure knew what they were doing, but the human brain was a variable even a genius like Bulma could barely comprehend. It had the uncanny ability to self-repair and render modifications obsolete, so there was no doubt in her mind that his memory had begun repairing itself. The forced amnesia was losing its hold._ _

__If she wasn’t careful, the experience would wreck him._ _


	7. Asset Protection

May 24, 2096  
ColdCorp Headquarters  
Director’s Office

Zarbon stood with his hands firmly clasped behind his back, staring at the wall behind the Director’s head. Years of service had rendered him nearly impervious to the Director’s tirades, but this was the first time it had been solely directed at him and he was finding it difficult to keep his composure. 

Unlike every other project head before him, Zarbon was not the micromanaging type. He let his employees make their own decisions, only checking up on them once or twice per quarter to ensure they were on track. Apparently, the Director considered this “lax practice” and decided to hold Zarbon directly responsible for the shitshow that had landed on his desk that morning. V-732’s handler had failed to appoint a replacement before he went on sudden leave to care for his dying father. 

The unit had malfunctioned.

And then he went AWOL.

===============

May 24, 2096  
West City  
Railroad Safehouse Oozaru

It had been shortsighted of Project Saiyajin not to implement capture protocols into V-732’s subroutines. Shortsighted _and _arrogant.__

It had cost them. V-732 stared at the woman sitting next to him taking notes. If he had protocols, he’d be deactivated by now. Perhaps the severed uplink had interrupted the data stream from HQ, and any protocols that had been sent out were lost to the airwaves. It didn’t help that he continued to experience flashes, someone else’s memories. This woman claimed they were _his _, but that couldn’t be possible.__

But whenever she called him this strange name, “Vegeta,” it triggered echoes of what felt like his past life. All that heartache and pain came flooding back. It had to be some sort of brainwashing technique designed to incapacitate him. 

“Woman,” he barked, causing her to look up at him sharply with a tiny frown on her pouting lips. “You have had your chance to observe. Now, do you wish to dissect me, or do you plan to keep me here until I gather a layer of dust so thick, you’ll need a shovel to get me out?” 

Her keen eyes followed his every movement as he struggled once again against his bonds, but she kept infuriatingly silent, jotting down more notes on her tablet as a smirk pulled at the corner of her lips. Yesterday, she had spoken incessantly. V-732 was unsure of the reason for the sudden change in her demeanor, but she’d barely said two words since he’d activated that morning. At least these people had the decency to keep his power supply replenished. 

It wasn’t until she had consumed her second mug of… whatever it was she was drinking that she finally addressed him again. “What do they call you?”

His designation alone was not classified information. There could be no harm in divulging it; perhaps if he were more forthcoming with his responses, she would answer his questions. “My creators have designated me V-732.” 

“Who are your creators?”

He regarded her for a long moment, intending to deduce her motives, but coming up short when her microexpressions betrayed no ill intent. “You know who my creators are.” 

The woman tilted her head and smiled. “Do they have names? Have you met them personally?” 

“You ask too many questions. What does that matter?” 

“Fine. One more question. This one matters.” 

“And then you will shut up?” 

Her ocular implant shifted as she lifted a brow. “No promises. But no more questions for the time being. Do you know why I’m calling you ‘Vegeta?’ Do you know what you are?” 

_“That’s two,” _he was about to say, but the questions caught him off guard. He assumed Vegeta was some sort of codename or the result of some misinformation by their network. She made it sound like it had further significance. As for the question of _what _he was, he recalled her peculiar phrase before they took him down back in Shenron Heights. It must have been connected with the strange memories he’d been experiencing. “I have the feeling you are about to enlighten me.”____

She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly through her nose. “You said something about ‘memories.’ While you were unconscious, I examined your neural pathways and found this.” She tapped the screen on her tablet and flipped it around to show him a readout from a scan she’d taken of him. “It’s an inhibitor,” she added helpfully when his expression went blank. “In your hippocampus.” 

“The memory center of the human brain.” 

She nodded. “Yes, exactly.” 

“I was created using carbomechanic technology. I do not doubt that my creators emulated certain organic functions to enhance my abilities.”

“That’s what we thought at first. But our leader knows you. And you know him.” 

“He did something to me when I ambushed your team. I do not trust him.” 

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “You had the drop on us. There was no way he could have. He wasn’t prepared.” She sighed and looked up at the ceiling, biting her lip and letting her shoulders drop. “We call you Vegeta because you are not a Company-made. Beneath all your modifications, you’re human like us.” 

Pulling his lip into a sneer, V-732 had to hold back a scoff. “I’m sure that’s what you tell all the other units that you liberate to make them more compliant. It won’t work on me.” 

“Bardock picked up _brain-wave patterns _, Vegeta. He didn’t recognize them because they’d been so heavily modified, but once he saw your face, he knew. Give me permission to disable your inhibitor, Vegeta. You used to be one of us. You used to be Railroad. Let me prove it.”__

__===============_ _

V-732 Personal Log  
2096 #61  
May 24, 2096

The uplink has been permanently severed. I cannot reestablish contact with Project Saiyajin, but I am discovering that I do not wish to. My transponder has been deactivated. Their search for me will be fruitless.  
  
The woman who calls herself Bulma has presented me with a choice. She wishes to perform a cranial procedure to deactivate what she believes is an inhibitor blocking access to neural pathways in my memory core. She theorizes that it is already degrading due to the superior functionality of my carbomechanical brain and is causing these echoes of familiarity I continue to experience.   
  
She informs me I will have to grant consent to this invasive surgery before she will proceed.   
  
I have never experienced this level of free will at the hands of those whose control I am under. It is a strange concept.


	8. Total Recall

Bulma’s Journal  
//break this encryption and I will END YOU!//  
May 26, 2096

I can’t imagine what that poor guy has been going through. He’s still going around calling himself “V-732” even though a few more of his memories have resurfaced. He even recognized the location of our old base!! It’s crawling with security nowadays so we don’t go there, but at least it’s progress. Bardock and Goku visited him yesterday. It… was an interesting encounter. There’s a lot of animosity there, but Bardock’s been quiet and won’t say anything about why that might be. It’s definitely _something _, though. Maybe Vegeta will tell me himself once he wakes up from the surgery.__

____

===============

May 27, 2096  
Railroad Base  
Saiyan Branch

Bulma leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed. Vegeta’s existential crisis had been progressing nicely; he’d spent a full day staring at the wall in his newly appointed quarters, almost rendering his security detail obsolete. “Do you believe me now?” Bulma asked, startling him back to present. “Do you remember?”

He continued staring at the wall as he spoke. “All I’m getting are more memory fragments; the picture isn’t any clearer. Sound bites, images… everything is overwhelming my cognitive pathways.” 

“It’s been a long time since you’ve used them. Muscles atrophy, neural pathways degrade; it’s going to take a while before things make sense.” 

He rolled his shoulders and watched her from the corner of his eye. “From my viewpoint, it feels like you’ve incapacitated me on purpose.” 

“The surgery was successful.” 

He held up his hands, wrists sporting the cuffs Bulma had placed on him to interrupt his enhancements until Bardock was certain he could be trusted.

“You’re a liability,” she replied with a shrug. “It’s just a precaution. If you ran off on us, we’d have to move shop again. It’d be a total pain in the ass to move everything. My diagnostic set-up, my tools, not to mention I’d have to sanitize a new operating theatre… I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I can’t think straight thanks to your inferior understanding of my specifications.”

“Need I remind you, you did consent to this procedure. I explained the risks.” 

He frowned, the petulant expression amplified by the angry, dark void of his eyes as he turned toward her. “You have your own interests to consider, and I find it hard to believe you care about anything else.” 

“Listen, buddy, I’m trying to _help _you here. I could have just as easily locked you in a cage and done the procedure without asking.” Bulma had half a mind to march up to him and jab her pointer finger in his face, but Bardock had advised against approaching him for the time being. “Believe what you want. I’m not going to stop trying.”__

__He squinted suspiciously before turning away again to brood._ _

__“Now hold tight for a bit, okay? Yamcha’s bringing in some experimental tech I’m hoping will help me make sense of your…” she waved her hand in the air around her head, trying to figure out how to phrase the strange phenomenon she’d been studying. “Erratic readouts,” she finally came up with. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. “Did you know you’ve been driving Bardock so crazy, he’s had to disable his ESP like he’s turning down a hearing aid?”_ _

__“Good for him,” Vegeta muttered sarcastically. His eyes widened and he sat up straighter. “Bardock…” he said. “I remember.”_ _

__Bulma’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Was this going to be the next step toward his reintegration with their team? Once enough of his memories recovered… “ _What _do you remember?” she pressed.___ _

____“Bardock is your leader.” It was a statement of fact, one that Bulma had already informed him of before the surgery._ _ _ _

____She nodded to confirm. “That’s right, but I already told you that. Bardock’s the one who ordered the rescue missio-”_ _ _ _

____“He almost got me _killed! _” Vegeta shouted, interrupting her and launching to his feet with a suddenness that almost knocked Bulma off-balance. “I remember now! That bastard sent me into a fucking ambush!” His wild-eyed stare swept the room as he slowly turned to her. He was reliving the memory, with fear, confusion, and anger each taking a turn on his features. He blinked, returning to the present, his gaze homing in on her as his tirade geared up to launch anew.___ _ _ _

______“Vegeta-” Bulma had frozen, but didn’t take her eyes off him. She put up her hand to stop the agents outside his door from interfering._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Stop fucking calling me that. It’s not my name.” He stepped toward her, but she stood her ground. “My designation is V-732.” Another step, and another and another until he pressed into her personal space, leaning in so close she could feel his hot breath on her skin. He radiated anger._ _ _ _ _ _

______It wasn’t directed at her._ _ _ _ _ _

______Her reaction bordered on involuntary, but she couldn’t retract her shaking hand as it reached toward him. They both tracked her tentative motion, staring dumbfounded as she traced a line from his shoulder to the hard armour covering his pectoral. “V-732,” she whispered, chancing a glance at his face as she splayed her fingers out, gripping the surface pleadingly. “I’m sorry they did this to you. I want you to understand-”_ _ _ _ _ _

______A sharp pain radiated from her wrist when Vegeta pulled her hand away with near-dislocating force, sucking in a sharp breath._ _ _ _ _ _

______The two agents had him on the ground in the same moment she let out a distressed yelp, leaving her clutching the limb to her chest in shock. Even with his enhancements limited, he was still devastatingly strong. She’d been stupid to think he wouldn’t use that strength against her._ _ _ _ _ _

______She’d been stupid not to ask first.______

___===============_ _ _

____  
  


June 2, 2096  
Railroad Base  
Saiyan Branch

Goku’s hulking frame filled the doorway leading into Bulma’s workspace, muffling the synthesizer-heavy melody that thumped from across the warehouse. “He’s asking to talk to you again,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know you’re busy, but I haven’t made any progress-”

Bulma slid out with the help of the rickety wheeled creeper under her back and cut him off with a glare. “I _am _busy. It’ll have to wait.” She knew Goku hadn’t made any progress in the last couple of days. Vegeta had been belligerent and uncooperative with anybody that wasn’t her, and she had only recently thought to ask Goku why that might be. ‘He was always trying to strike up this weird rivalry,’ he’d said. ‘I think it’s because his dad outranked mine when they were in the military, but my dad was appointed leader by the council when we founded this branch.’ Bulma wiped her brow with the cleanest cloth she could find and sat up, throwing her thumb over her shoulder. “Can’t Krillin or Tien try again? Bardock needs this done by tonight.”__

__Her friend kicked at the ground with his toe, staring at it in a feeble attempt to maintain his composure and not crack up as he explained, “Well, Krillin is terrified of him, and Tien… uh, he’s with…”_ _

__“With Launch again, yeah, yeah,” Bulma sighed with a roll of her eyes. “Tell Krillin to stop being such a big baby if he wants me to work on his upgrades any time soon.”_ _

__“He went off with Yamcha to inspect his latest haul.”_ _

__“Convenient.”_ _

__“I also really don’t want to have a repeat of Sunday.”_ _

__Goku grimaced sympathetically. “How is your wrist, anyway? Any lasting damage?”_ _

__“Nothing a painkiller didn’t fix. I can’t even be mad at him about it. It was pure instinct, and he was protecting himself. I just thought...” she trailed off, cheeks reddening. She’d thought they’d had a connection._ _

__“The old Vegeta is in there somewhere,” Goku reassured her. “Even if he’s not completely himself right now, we’ll get there.”_ _

__Bulma could only hope._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are all so nice and amazing and I promise I will get to them when I have some time <3 I tried to keep up at the beginning but y'all got so much love to give I was washed away by it all ;D


	9. Exposé

June 6, 2096  
West City  
WCN - West City News

“Carmen, are you getting this?” Sano asked, rubbing his eyes to double check the monitor. 

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” the analyst replied, fingers flying across her keyboard. She copied the incoming readings to her colleague’s workstation, scanning line after line of data as it streamed in. “I’ll check with East, see if they’re getting this, too.” 

“Already on it.” A pause. “Dear god, this can’t be right.” 

Carmen’s lips pulled into a thin line. The news didn’t come as a surprise. Call her cynical, but she’d been old enough to know what was happening when the Red Ribbon scandal broke, and this might not have been any different if the stakes weren’t so astronomically high. Her colleague was still green around the edges, only two years out of university. 

“This is bad. Oh, no. This is… this is _bad _. Should we-- should we call somebody?” he asked, his voice quavering as he spun his chair to face her, eyes the size of saucers.__

“No.” Carmen shook her head once, decisively. “Scrub the data.” 

“... _What? _” Sano spun around in his chair to gawk at her head-on. “This could be the story of the _century _. It’s our duty as journalists-”____

Carmen knew Sano hadn’t been around the block yet. “It’s not worth it,” she told him. She’d been trying to protect him from his own complicity as a cog in the government’s propaganda machine for as long as possible, let him come to that conclusion on his own after a few years of connecting the dots. Back when he’d first come on board, he was fresh out of uni, a bright-eyed idealist who thought he was going to change the world. He hadn’t stopped chasing leads since, with the sort of fervour the best of the best were made of. But he lacked the worldly wisdom to see that Carmen and some of the others had been dangling carrots in front of his nose this whole time. All that “preparing of interviewees” Carmen had done for him, ostensibly as a favour, was really reminding them of what happened the last time a scandal broke out. Almost everyone involved had fallen victim to horrific accidents within months. 

“But, but, think of the _prestige _, Carmen! We could get a-a-a _Pulitzer _for this!”____

____“That’s only for print and digital publications,” she reminded him. Unplugging her headset and pulled herself up from her chair, she beckoned for him to follow. It looked like she needed to induct him into the circle of knowledge early. “Come. It’s time we had a talk.”____

___===============_ _ _

__  
_  
_

V-732 Personal Log  
2096 #61  
June 7, 2096

My name is “Vegeta.” They have been calling me this for days, but the memories are only coming back now. It is still strange to say I have a name and not a designation. It still feels wrong, like it belongs to someone else.

June 7, 2096  
Railroad Base  
Saiyan Branch

Vegeta still distrusted Bardock, but the man had proven himself a competent leader in the short time he’d been there. His efficiency and commanding demeanour earned him the respect and trust of his subordinates, but there was something in the way he and Vegeta interacted that made Vegeta suspect that his reasons for disliking him stemmed from something deeper than residual suspicion about Bardock’s motives. Those memories hadn’t reclaimed their place in his mind. By extension, he knew he was missing something when it came to Goku, too. Vegeta wasn’t sure if his hostility toward the excitable agent stemmed from the fact he was Bardock’s son, or if the underlying tension in their every interaction stemmed from something more personal. It frustrated him beyond belief that these relative strangers knew more about himself than he did. So what if he lashed out at a couple of them in his anger?

But then there was Bulma. He gathered that she’d joined after his abduction, but aside from their initial conversations and the time he’d attacked her (it was out of fear, pure reflex), the strange emotion he’d been feeling since then had made it difficult to look at her, let alone engage in conversation. As much as he wanted to see her, she limited their interactions to his daily check-in.

Even if he was emotionally unstable (who’d have guessed that those words could apply to somebody who not even a fortnight ago thought himself a machine?), he had been making remarkable progress. Bardock had given him more freedom to move around the warehouse without the constant vigilance of a security detail. Vegeta even begrudgingly allowed the other agents converse with him. Or at him. At Bulma’s urging. She said it would help rewire his synapses, but she didn’t tell him he was required to be _pleasant _. With the unaffected way most people responded to his prickliness, he wondered if his current personality was not too far off the mark from his former one.__

__No matter how much he spoke with the others, nobody would tell him about the mission where he’d been kidnapped, or what happened in the aftermath._ _

__Vegeta paced around the warehouse, restless energy keeping him from settling down and plugging in for the night. It had to be close to 1am. He’d had a lot of time to think. Lost in his own thoughts, he found himself outside Bulma’s workshop. The clanging noises and occasional cursing meant she was pulling another late night, working on the backlog of repairs caused by another operation gone sideways. Perhaps he could cajole more answers from her under the pretense of offering assistance. He knocked on the door._ _

__“Krillin, I _swear to god _if this is about the stupid flashing on your implants, I’ve told you I don’t know-”___ _

____“Woman,” Vegeta grunted, cutting off her misdirected diatribe as he entered. “I wish to speak with you.”_ _ _ _

____Bulma slid out from under the hovercar, which had broken down again, and glared at him before checking the time. “I see you keep the same hours I do,” she huffed. “Shouldn’t you be recharging by now?”_ _ _ _

____He paused for a long moment. Her hair framed her face like a radiant blue halo, and despite the grease marks on her face, she was gorgeous. Even a machine would see that. “Yes.”_ _ _ _

____“So, what, you couldn’t sleep?” She rubbed her cheek, smearing more grease but not seeming to care._ _ _ _

____“I have questions.”_ _ _ _

____“And now you’re bugging me because I’m the only one awake.”_ _ _ _

____His pride didn’t allow him to admit he would have sought her out even if the base were teeming with operatives. Something about her drew him in like a moth to a flame. “Why did you join the Railroad?”_ _ _ _

____“Hell of a non-sequitur there, buddy.” She waited a beat before pulling herself up. Wiping her hands on the oil rag, she turned her back to him and pulled out a set of tools from her kit. “I met a few Company-mades who didn’t want to be under anybody’s thumb. They showed a high degree of sentience. It… felt wrong. To keep them without their consent.”_ _ _ _

____“ColdCorp creations are kept in restricted areas. How did you meet one?”_ _ _ _

____Bulma’s smile lifted the corner of her mouth almost imperceptibly. “I… had a contract position that put me in close quarters with some of the latest Company-made models. Through my father’s work. Have you ever heard of Capsule Corporation?”_ _ _ _

____Vegeta shook his head, causing her to smile ruefully. “Well. ColdCorp’s _benevolent _Director decided to step in when it looked like we were about to go under. Which was orchestrated, of course. It was a hostile takeover; he muscled my father out of the company he created and took off with everything including the patents for my father’s inventions.”___ _ _ _

______“So you joined the Railroad for vengeance.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Bulma stared at him for a long moment incredulously. “ _No, _silly. I joined because I care about sentience. Weren’t you listening? And okay, so what if their goals aligned with mine regarding ColdCorp? It’s not _ulterior _motives, it’s _conjunctive _motives.”_______ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Whatever makes you sleep better at night.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Don’t tell me you don’t have some sort of vendetta against them. Look at what they did to you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Vegeta contemplated that for a moment. “I am still processing my… emotions.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Good man.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Hardly.”____________

___===============_ _ _

__  
_  
_

June 9, 2096  
ColdCorp Headquarters   
Director’s Office

At any given moment, ColdCorp’s PR team had its hands full. Most situations only crossed the Director’s desk as a courtesy and went unread into his massive digital file locker. Only a select few were notable enough to garner his attention, and _this _was one of them. The device behind his ear projected the holographic images of two reporters with _West City News _. Data logs showed that their night shift workstations, along with those in East City, had received a Whistleblower upload containing an unprecedented number of files, internal memos, and confidential information about ColdCorp and its subsidiaries. So, not only did the Director have to deal with a couple of zealots who thought they had him under their thumb, there was an internal leak to find and plug with a bullet to the brain.____


	10. Breakthroughs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you StarrCrossRose for looking this one over before I posted it <3

Bulma’s Journal  
//break this encryption and I will END YOU!//  
June 11, 2096

So… Yamcha talked to me today. Like, actually talked. We had a conversation about the weather! It was really awkward and I had to prompt him to continue every time there was a silence, but I’m so proud of how far he’s come.  
  
UNFORTUNATELY. Oh man. How do I even write this?  
  
So, Vegeta, right? Formerly brainwashed, thought-he-was-a-Company-made assassin who wiped out half my team and gave me nightmares for days? The one we rescued and made all that progress with? (I know I literally talked about him in my last log entry but this is for posterity’s sake, goddammit!)  
  
Yeah. I think I have a crush on him. Like a teenager.  
  
Why do I keep setting myself up for failure?? Either it’s men who are too scared to say two words to me or it’s a fucking cold-blooded murderer who wouldn’t know the meaning of the word “polite” if it bit him in the ass! Fuck my life.

June 11, 2096  
Railroad Base  
Saiyan Branch

His energy was unmistakable. A shiver ran up Bulma’s spine, but she focused on the task in front of her, refusing to turn and meet the dark eyes which were inevitably watching her from the doorway. 

“Making a habit of this, are we?” she asked after several beats, straightening out her tools and trying not to leave a mess for herself in the morning. 

He didn’t reply. 

She made to turn toward him and yelped--he was _right there _, hot breath on her neck, looking over her shoulder like he had no concept of personal space. If she’d done the same to him, she might lose her head.__

Vegeta grabbed her wrist--gently, this time--and inspected it. “There has been no lasting damage,” he noted. “I do not know why Kakarot recommended an apology. You are unharmed.” 

The name caught her by surprise and she whirled around to face him. “Why did you call him Kakarot?”

“That’s his name.” 

“Nobody but Bardock calls him that.” 

“I remembered.” He punctuated the statement with a toothy grin that she’d have pegged as uncanny valley if he weren’t actually human. 

“Well, that’s progress.” She tried turning away from him before quirking an eyebrow, staring down pointedly at his hand on her wrist. “What was that about an apology?” 

Vegeta shook his head. “I have deemed it unnecessary. I was led to believe I had permanently injured you, but you are functioning within normal parameters.” 

Pulling back from his grasp (was there an electric current running between them, or was she imagining things?), Bulma sniffed indignantly. “I’m already over it, but I do have to ask. I recognize you’ve got the reflexes of a superpowered cat, but did you really think I was going to hurt you?” 

He loomed over her, staring down his nose into her eyes. “I had learned not to underestimate you.” 

“That so?” She drew herself up to her full height. His proximity set her heart racing. Could he hear it? “That’s a good lesson to learn. I have a few more surprises up my sleeve.” 

“Good,” he said, gaze following the contours of her face and landing on her mouth. His face scrunched in concentration. “Do it again.”  
She tilted her head to the side in question, the request for clarification dying on her lips as he grabbed her hand _again _and pulled it toward his chest. She let her fingers grip at him before warily glancing up. He watched her intently, and she let herself trace his form before stepping away and clearing her throat. “Was there anything else?”__

“No.”

===============

June 13, 2096  
Project Saiyajin  
Overseer’s Office

The situation was dire, but not entirely unsalvageable. Zarbon had every asset at his disposal on the streets. He’d found his _in_. It wouldn’t be long now before he had ears where he needed them most: inside every known--and previously unknown--Railroad location in the city.

===============

June 16, 2096  
Railroad Base  
Saiyan Branch

“Project Saiyajin.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“My creators. They were called… Project Saiyajin.” 

Bulma put down her fork and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. Her mind raced. “Saiyajin… as in _Saiyan _.”__

He nodded curtly. “The connection is obvious.” 

“Bardock was right,” Bulma murmured. “Your abduction was a targeted attack. I know you and Bardock don’t get along, but you need to report to him and tell him what you know.” 

“No. I cannot pinpoint why, but I still don’t trust him.” 

“I’m not sure I have the resources to pursue this on my own, but now you’ve got my interest. I can do a little digging and find out if there are any records of this Project Saiyajin. Anything beyond that and I know Bardock won’t clear me investigating on my own.” 

“We will do it together, then.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “An unsanctioned mission, huh? You’re not cleared for the field yet, and probably won’t be for a while. Bardock would be well within his rights to kick us out on our asses if he found out. I don’t have anywhere else to go.” 

“You mentioned your father. Where is he?”

Shovelling another forkful of her lunch into her mouth so she didn’t have to answer right away, Bulma avoided his gaze. She knew where her father had _intended _to go, but whether or not he made it there was another thing. “Chasing a rumour,” she answered truthfully after swallowing. In reality, she didn’t know if his destination, a location code-named Tech Noir actually existed. Nobody even knew what it _was_.__

__“We can find him if we have to, but it shouldn’t be necessary. I have an idea.”_ _

__“I’m all ears.”__

__===============_ _

__  


June 25, 2096  
Railroad Base  
Saiyan Branch

Vegeta had made a lot of progress over the past month. He sat with the crew during mealtimes and did not actively scowl at everyone who looked his way. Just most of them. Bulma was proud.

They’d spent their last few evenings in her workshop, going over different scenarios. Infiltrating ColdCorp without assistance was sure to be a suicide mission. Neither of them voiced that out loud. 

Other Railroad teams had made the attempt before, but none had ever gotten past the perimeter. Of course, those missions didn’t have Vegeta as an asset. So far, their best bet was to make their strike on the database and mine what information they could. Bulma had ironed out most of the details, but Vegeta had other plans he wasn’t willing to share yet. 

She adjusted the nodes on Vegeta’s charge port, making them more compatible with their makeshift station until she had the time to sit down and design a more efficient setup. “We should probably give you a comm link soon,” she mused, tweaking a piece she wasn’t sure the purpose of. “At least one that’s connected to mine so we can keep in touch in the field.” 

“As if I will need it,” Vegeta scoffed. A shiver went down his spine and he paused for a long moment as if he were searching for the right words. “I’m designed… _trained_ to pull off these missions without a hitch.” 

“Right, and that went _so well_ for you the last time.” Bulma chuckled, peeking around at the scowl on his face at her prodding. “It just means they did shoddy work. They’ll probably be expecting us. Are you sure we shouldn’t go to Bardock and get backup?”

Before Vegeta could answer, Bardock’s voice crackled over her comm. “Hey Briefs, gotta minute?” 

It was like he read her mind. “Hey, Bardock. Just finishing some upgrades on our house guest. What do you need?” She raised her eyebrows at Vegeta in alarm. He couldn’t have figured them out, right? Not this quickly.

“I need you in my office. Alone. We have something to discuss.” 

Bulma could only describe the sensation that followed as her heart dropping into her stomach, and her stomach clawing its way up her throat. 

“What’d he say?” Vegeta grunted, doing his best to stay still under her practiced hands.

“I’ll be there in ten.” She disconnected the link on her HUD before circling Vegeta to look at him straight on. “He wants me in his office to talk about something. Damn, I hope he hasn’t caught on already.” 

“Tch. I would hardly call it sneaking, woman. We have not been acting any differently than normal.” 

“You seem to have forgotten Bardock’s ESP. He can tell when I’m agitated. I need to come up with an excuse before I go.” 

He fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, a litany of expressions ranging from uncertainty to fear crossing his face in quick succession before settling on determination. “Perhaps we can take a cue from the bald one.” 

“Krillin?” 

“No, the other one. With the third-eye augment. He and the blonde sneak off at all hours of the day to participate in romantic liaisons.” 

Bulma choked and nearly dropped her soldering iron, catching it just before the hot tip caused any tissue damage to Vegeta’s scalp. After turning it off and setting it down, she turned toward him carefully. Was he really suggesting…? “I’m _not _going to pretend you and I are having sex!” she exclaimed as quietly as possible. “And I definitely wouldn’t be telling my boss about it!”__

__Previously, Bulma was unsure if Vegeta had a built-in blush response. Her questions were answered now as his face flooded crimson. He stuttered, trying to backpedal on her assumptions before he caught his footing. “That is _not _what I was implying. I simply meant that the others are more understanding if they are _distracted_ due to their spending so much time together.” ___ _

____Bulma buried her face in her hands. “A _romantic liaison _implies sex, Vegeta.” She shook her head at the embarrassing miscommunication before recovering and placing the finishing touches on his upgrade. “I’m not even sure if you have the, uh, parts for that anymore.”___ _ _ _

______Vegeta looked down at his hands as she prepared to leave. “I do,” he mumbled._ _ _ _ _ _

______Bulma paused on her way out, hand on the doorframe. Looking back over her shoulder with an eyebrow quirked, she chuckled to hide her own awkwardness. “I’m sure we can find you a nice cyborg lady with all the compatible bits, then.”______

___===============_ _ _

___Bardock swung his booted feet up to the desk and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I haven’t been completely honest with you,” he sighed. His demeanour was anything but contrite as he watched Bulma’s face in his classic _I’m reading your brainwaves to check your reaction___ pose. _  
  


______Bulma fidgeted her thumbs. “I imagine there are things you haven’t told me,” she said carefully, trying to discern where he was going. Maybe this wasn’t about her and Vegeta, after all. “Compartmentalizing, and all that.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Bardock’s mouth narrowed into a thin line as he hummed in agreement. “This is about Vegeta.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Shit._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Don’t tell me, he actually _is _a highly-advanced android, and I’ve been making psychological progress with a machine all along,” she quipped. With no way to know how much Bardock knew about their plan, if anything at all, she resorted to her typical sarcasm to keep Situation Normal.___ _ _ _ _ _

________“This would be a lot easier to tell you if that were the case.”________

___===============_ _ _

____  
  


June 26, 2096  
Project Saiyajin  
Overseer’s Office

Zarbon let out a sigh of relief. Somehow, the so-called “failsafe” had malfunctioned so enormously that V-732 had dropped off the grid for over a month. It was a miracle he hadn’t been sent to the executioner’s block yet. Other events had drawn the Director’s attention away. 

He’d determined V-732’s general location, but without concrete data he couldn’t risk making a move.

But the blip on holo-surround had come back. The signal was weak, and they’d had a hard time tracing it, but less than a day later, they’d gotten a lock on his location. V-732 was hanging out in some old warehouse. If Zarbon could hold onto this information just long enough to regain a live feed, he’d find himself back in the Director’s good graces and his career would be saved.

===============

June 26, 2096  
Railroad Base  
Saiyan Branch

“I’m going to spend tonight setting up your charging station in here,” Bulma called out behind her. She’d grown accustomed to his nightly visits now, especially since he never bothered darkening anyone else’s doorstep. Maybe he was drawn to her the same way she was to him. Maybe he only thought she was useful. Who knew. 

They’d been arguing the finer points of their top three plans lately. Their progress was slow but evident, and while she wasn’t pulling out the good champagne just yet, Bulma was optimistic about where they were going. 

But something felt different tonight. _Wrong._

“Woman.” His voice, deeper than usual, cracked around the word. 

She turned to him.

The lights flickered.

And then exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:) 
> 
>  
> 
> (that's the face I make when I know exactly what I've done to you)


	11. Kill (To Be With You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to starrcrossrose and The_Crystal_Rose (I like roses, what can I say ;D ) for looking this over and cheering me on as I made a bunch of crazy last-minute changes!!!
> 
> I recently updated the fic to include a warning for graphic depictions of violence. The first scene in this chapter may not be for everyone so please exercise discretion as you read. 
> 
> Also. This chapter is NSFW. 'Bout time, amirite? <3

June 26, 2096  
ColdCorp Labs  
Sector D

Dodoria stifled a grimace. This was his least favourite part of the research process. It was so goddamn _messy_ , even with gloves on. Added with the fact that the Director’s lackeys didn’t always put the best specimens on his table, the procedure was still highly experimental. More often than not, things didn’t go as planned. At least he’d learned to tune out the whimpering. 

Things had been tense outside the lab lately. The department heads were still scrambling like chickens with their heads cut off, trying to plug a leak Dodoria wasn’t even sure existed. If the Director had his way, it wouldn’t matter. What was a media leak to an Empire? Nothing above the surface would be of any consequence. Aside from that, V-732’s handler had left in a hurry under _mysterious_ circumstances. Maybe they’d choose a suitable replacement this time. He mulled over that for a while and decided that while he _was_ pissed they’d lost his magnum opus, there would be another. After all, he had plenty of specimens to choose from, and once he could replicate the results of his experiments with success on the lesser samplings, he’d be more than happy to work with the good ones. 

“Pl-please,” his current project whispered. “Just kill me.” 

Dodoria stripped off his gloves and threw them in the trash. “You know I can’t do that,” he crooned. “Not without seeing if this takes.” He pulled a new pair from the box and put them on, turning toward the mess of flesh and wire on his table. The thing barely resembled the man it used to be. “Just close your silicon eyes, and go to your happy place.” 

There would be no anesthesia, lest it react to the cocktail of adrenalin and other chemicals keeping the pitiful newly minted cyborg alive. Dodoria hummed away, tweaking and adjusting the cybernetic parts and cutting incisions for new installations. There was hardly any blood left, having been replaced by a plasmatic fluid he’d developed himself to keep them alive longer. He studiously kept his gaze averted as he worked up to the face, one he’d seen on WCN only weeks prior reporting on some mundane, government-sponsored inanity. The skin on the cheeks peeled back easily, revealing some of the work he’d already done and exposing the delicate circuitry which would connect the next implant to his neural system. 

A pre-fabricated implant sat on the tray behind him. Dodoria carelessly reached back for it without looking, too distracted by the attempted grimace his subject was making to aim properly. He knocked it on the ground. 

It shattered. 

“Fuck.” He looked over his shoulder and sighed. That was going to add precious hours he didn’t have to the procedure time. Was it worth it to keep going, or should he start anew? Most of his other subjects had died long before they reached this point. He made the decision to push forward, finally addressing his experiment by name: “Well shit, Sano. Looks like you’ll have to hold on a little longer while I make you a new mask.”

===============

V-732 Personal Log  
2096 #68  
June 26, 2096

>Uplink reinitiated.  
>Asserting Free Will.  
>Fighting for control of my processes.  
>Must not let Bulma know.  
>Mission parameters rejected.  
>Implementing new protocols.

===============

June ??, 2096  
Unknown Locale

He didn’t want her to know, but he had nowhere else to turn. She’d earned his trust. She would never betray him. 

He collapsed as the world went dark around them. Moments or hours or days later he awoke to bright lights and indistinct voices floating around his head. He tried to shield his eyes but found he couldn’t move. They’d restrained him. _Bulma_ , he tried to say. _Woman. Listen._ No words came out. _It’s dangerous. You need to leave. Go now._ Nothing. He was powerless to warn them. To warn her. 

He drifted in and out of consciousness. Gradually, the voices grew sharper. His vision cleared. She was hovering over him, concern drawing her lips into a tight frown. He wanted so desperately to wipe it away, tell her he was fine but they needed to get out, now. 

He’d do anything to keep her safe. 

He would _kill_ to be with her. 

The realization sat on his chest like lead bricks. She was his everything. The information that flooded into his implants conflicted with everything he’d learned. Everything she’d helped him remember. 

There was a brief flash of light and Vegeta could feel his limbs again. He flexed his hands, reaching for Bulma’s. She held onto him, tears streaming down her face in a mixture of relief and terror and something else Vegeta couldn’t identify. “You’re okay,” she whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” 

“Bulma,” he croaked, his throat still dry. “They know. Where we are. We have to leave.” 

She held a glass of water to his parched lips and he gulped it down. “Bardock’s already evacuated all personnel. Goku torched the place after.” She looked away sadly. “All of my projects…” 

He sat up on the bed and saw they were alone in an unfamiliar room. It was run-down, with paint peeling from the walls and motes of dust hanging suspended in the air. They weren’t at the base anymore. “You’ll rebuild. But you need to go. They’re tracking me,” he said, waving his hand around his head urgently. “I don’t know how, the uplink was severed but now it’s back.” 

“I think I must have activated a failsafe I didn’t catch earlier,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “I’m not sure when, so I don’t know how long they’ve known, but we caught the signal in time to get out in one piece. I think I managed to deactivate it.”

>Uplink intact.  
>Signal transmission offline.

Vegeta ran an internal check and nodded in confirmation. “It is not currently transmitting.” 

Bulma let out a sigh of relief. They sat in silence for a few long moments, collecting their bearings and getting lost in their thoughts. 

“Let’s fight those bastards,” Vegeta said at the same moment Bulma blurted out, “Come to Tech Noir with me.” 

They stared at each other. For once in his life, Vegeta closed his mouth and let her speak. 

“My dad wasn’t a stupid man. Even if he didn’t have proof, he had leads. I can check his logs for clues. The Company is too much for the two of us alone, Vegeta. If we get away, follow the trail of breadcrumbs I’ve been too afraid to pursue, we can regroup-” 

“Bulma.” He hopped off the bed and approached her with singular determination. Her wide eyes stared back at him as he reached for her face, fingers stroking down her cheek and coming to rest under her chin. If he didn’t do this now, he’d never have the opportunity again.

His lips crashed against hers, feverishly and filled with so much _need_ \--

She grabbed his hair and pulled him closer, sucking in a deep breath when they finally separated before surging forward with renewed ardour. “Vegeta,” she gasped against his lips, pulling back and pressing her forehead against his. 

He wanted to document everything about her, about this moment, from the way her bright eyes darkened with desire to the needy grip of her fist in his hair. But time was short, and he needed her _now_. His body thrummed as long-dormant appetites reawakened, guiding his hands with a raw instinctiveness he was powerless not to follow. The tight rein he kept on his control slipped, pitching him into liminal surreality; everything except her touch, her scent, her _taste_ slipped away. 

There was only _her_. 

Her hands on his back, the smooth contours of her belly pressing against him, her top discarded sometime between the kiss and now. Her fingernails scraped down his back when he picked her up, carrying her to the bed and laying her down. He climbed on top of her but let her guide him, settling between welcoming thighs that encompassed him and held him in place. He was at home there. 

Every inch of her skin was paradise. No matter what came next, where they went or what they did or how they’d survive, she would be his escape. His avarice knew no bounds, lapping at her skin and taking whatever she deemed him worthy of, dragging his tongue up the graceful column of her neck and earning him her shiver of delight. She did not care how much of a man he was, or how much machine. The pure sensation of her was enough to drag him kicking and screaming back into his humanity. 

She’d found her way down his body, slipped her nimble fingers under his clothing. He sucked in a breath between his teeth as she gripped his hardened length, caressing him and sucking little marks against his collarbone. “God, you’re huge,” she groaned, flicking the tip of her thumb over his head with every stroke. Her legs tightened around him, pulling him tight against her body.

He couldn’t take it anymore. _“Bulma,”_ he grit out, hips stuttering, hoping to convey the depth of his urgency. She halted her ministrations, lapping her clever tongue over the lovebites she’d given him.

He divested her of the last of her clothing, admiring the expanse of her body as it was revealed to him little by little. How she could let him be so close--? 

“Vegeta,” she moaned, head thrown back on the pillow. She angled her hips upward in a needy thrust, whimpering when he took his time to ready himself. “ _Please._ ” Right now, she was not the strong-willed cybernetic mechanic who’d dominated his every waking thought. Right now, she was vulnerable. For _him._

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He lined up with her, strained against her wet heat--

And, _fuck,_ she was amazing. 

If she felt good pressed naked against him before, being encompassed in her warm folds sent him to new heights of pleasure. Ecstasy exploded in the back of his mind and threatened to override his discipline. But he resisted the urge to take everything all at once. To _use_ her. With a slack jaw and the patience of a thousand saints, he nudged deeper and deeper, letting her draw him in at her own pace until he was buried to the hilt. 

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she let out one tiny moan after another, shifting under him to adjust to his size. “God, Vegeta,” she gasped when he bottomed out. “I want-” she cut herself off, undulating beneath him to convey her desire with movement instead. Her agile body rippled around and against him, hungry for everything he could offer. She cried out when he drew back and gave a short, experimental thrust into her depths. Her blush-tinted cheeks perfectly complemented her enthralled expression; she needed him as much as he needed her. “More,” she whimpered.

He was only too happy to oblige. She met his every stroke, responding in kind to each labored groan that escaped his lips as he increased his speed. She demanded it of him. 

Vegeta felt like he could fly, but she rooted him to the ground. Her intoxicating scent kept him in the present; her love made him drunk with lust. In the back of his mind he could feel a pleasant sensation building, threatening to take him over. He called out her name as he reached that nameless precipice, felt her convulse around him and grab him and refuse to let go--

Their synchronous release exploded like stars behind his eyes. Every pent-up frustration, every failure dissolved into nothingness. Warm tingles dispersed over him, making him hyper-aware of their bodies’ connection and the unexpected rush of tender emotions tempering his volatile nature. 

When he faltered back to reality, he had collapsed over her, encasing her with his body like a protective barrier. The last of her euphoria slipped from her features, replaced by a content grin and wide, blue eyes that stared up at him in awe. She wrapped her arms around him, pulled him to her and adjusted her hips to bear his weight. They lay nestled together like that for a long time. Once she finally caught her breath, Bulma chuckled. “Wow. I take it back about finding you a lady with cyborg bits.”

“Good,” he mumbled, his face muffled against her neck. He nipped at her soft flesh, tasted her salt-laced skin. “Prefer yours, anyway.” He drew back to look her in the face through heavy-lidded eyes. He just wanted to _sleep_ , dammit, but he didn’t want to miss a moment of her presence. Reluctantly, he slipped out of her and rolled over onto his back. There was barely enough room for the two of them, but if she snuggled up against his solid form, he found he didn’t mind. 

“Vegeta,” she whispered.

“Mm?” He was already drifting off, but he waited a few beats for her response. When it never came, he let his eyelids flutter closed.

===============

June 28, 2096  
West City  
Railroad Safehouse Sadala

Vegeta’s eyes snapped open in the middle of the night. Somebody was accessing his uplink.

02:31 hours  
  
>V-732, report to Headquarters for diagnostic overhaul.  
  
No.  
  
>V-732, return now or face immediate deactivation.  
  
That’s not my name. I know who I am. You cannot control me.  
  
>Subject: Saiya_001. Alias: Vegeta. Affiliation: Railroad, formerly Military. Known allies: Vegeta Sr. (deceased), Bardock, Raditz, Kakarot, Saiyan Branch operatives.  
  
I know all of that.  
  
>Vegeta Sr. (deceased). Affiliation: Railroad, formerly Military. Known allies: Vegeta Jr. (captured, turned asset), Bardock, Raditz, Kakarot, Saiyan Branch operatives. Reason for assassination: To cover up involvement in the abduction of Vegeta Jr.  
  
>They lied to you. I will guarantee your safety if you return.  
  
Fuck off.  
  
>Source: Bulma Briefs. Affiliation: Railroad, formerly CapsuleCorp. Known allies: Dr. Trunks Briefs, Bardock, Kakarot, Saiyan Branch operatives. Method: Microphone transceiver placed inside electronics shipment. Date: June 25, 2096.  
  
>Come home, Vegeta. They’re manipulating you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O!!!!!!!!


	12. Rendezvous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Starrcrossrose for the beta and the cheerleading as I reworked this chapter till I whipped it into shape!

June 26, 2096  
Project Saiyajin  
Overseer’s Office

Zarbon was two steps from opening a bottle of champagne. The report from his team had just arrived to his personal computer, and it contained only good news. _Excellent_ news, he would dare say. 

The Railroad had not discovered the failsafe implanted deep within V-732’s brain. It was still intact.

===============

June 28, 2096  
West City  
Railroad Safehouse Sadala

Bulma’s HUD alarm roused her from an eventful sleep. She rubbed her eyes and shifted before letting out a startled yelp; in her post-dream haze, she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone. Vegeta lay stoically staring at the ceiling beside her. 

“Mornin’, handsome,” Bulma crooned, cuddling up against him and enjoying his warmth.

He glanced over, closed his eyes, and smirked. “It’s still the middle of the night.” 

“I know. But we need the cover of darkness to make our escape.” It sounded so dramatic. Bulma loved it. “You sleep okay?” 

He smirked. “Enough to replenish some of the energy you made me use last night.” 

“I don’t recall any complaints. Wish we had time for another round this morning.” Bulma yawned, stretching out her arms and nearly falling off the too-narrow bed. 

Vegeta caught her by the waist and pulled her back flush with his chest. He leaned forward to nuzzle the nape of her neck, letting out a contented hum as his arousal grew against her backside. “Who says we don’t?” 

She giggled and tried to squirm away. “Gotta rendezvous with the team, Vegeta. We can’t stay here.” She almost gave in to his pawing, letting out a tiny gasp as he reached around and grabbed a handful of boob. Her half-hearted protests went unheeded as his fingers wandered along her collarbone, down the dip of her hips... It felt so _right_ , it was easy to forget imminent danger lurked around every corner. But the omnipresent fear wouldn’t let go, so she pulled away from him and swung her legs around the side of the bed with a regretful look.

The evidence of their tryst lay scattered around the room. Things had escalated a lot faster than she’d intended, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed every second of it. “I brought you some tactical gear,” she said, digging through the provisions she’d left by the door. “I guess you’re a field operative now. Congratulations.” 

“Ceremonious,” Vegeta quipped, catching the duffel bag she threw at him. She’d packed away some clothes borrowed from Yamcha, since they were about the same size. 

“There’ll be time for pomp and circumstance when we rendezvous with the rest of the branch.”

===============

Bulma stared down at the device in her palm. The capsule had been Dr. Briefs’ greatest achievement and the foundation on which he’d built his company. Despite the worsening political climate and the widest class disparity in history, Bulma had lived a comfortable life. Until ColdCorp had taken over the company, pulled the lucrative product off the market, and lobbied to make the technology illegal. They’d developed trackers and funded dedicated government resources to their eradication; if somebody activated one, their sensors would triangulate its position immediately and a team would be dispatched to confiscate it.

It was totally overkill. Bulma knew the Director hoarded them for himself, and it pissed her off. 

Defiantly, she pressed the button and it disappeared with a _poof_. When the smoke cleared, it revealed a motorcycle that had to be at least two decades old. When Bulma was little, her father used to take her out for rides, shuttling to and from the office when the roads weren’t monitored so heavily. Then, the night before he disappeared, he’d imparted it to her care, declaring her old enough to continue the legacy. She had clutched it to her heart and cried the next morning when he was nowhere to be found. And she hadn’t opened it since.

“Hop on,” she called out to Vegeta, mounting the driver’s seat and starting it up. If the capsule tech didn’t alert the authorities to their presence, the loud roar of the engine certainly would. Glancing back, she saw Vegeta staring into the distance with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. “Hop on!” she called out.

He packed his things into the saddlebags next to hers and wordlessly sat on the back, wrapping his arms around her like they belonged there. She pushed the throttle and they left West City glittering behind them in the darkness.

In her wake, a slip of paper fluttered in the breeze.

===============

Those early hours before dawn broke had always been Bulma’s favourite. They’d been her mother’s, too, but those days of stargazing together at 3 am had long past. She didn’t even know if her mother was still alive. Or where her father was. Or if _he_ was alive. She was Schrodinger's orphan.

When Dr. Briefs left, Bardock took Bulma in as one of his own. Under his tutelage, she’d become a skilled field operative and cybernetic engineer. He identified her aptitudes and amplified them, turning her into a valuable member of the team and not the drain on resources she and her tinkerings had been before. He’d never said as much even if he had every right to. He’d become just as much a father to her as he was to Goku. He had her back even now, as they rode through the quiet countryside, the rev of the engine echoing off the rolling hills. 

The constant haze plaguing the city gradually cleared away as Bulma brought them closer to the rendezvous. She’d never been there, but Bardock was pushing waypoints and other communiques to her HUD via uplink every few miles. She was watching the city disappear over a hill in her rearview when a message came in on her direct line.

>Take side roads if you can. Reports of patrols in your region.  
>Have you told him yet?

She’d been mulling it over, and she wasn’t even sure she _should_ tell Vegeta what Bardock had said. When their leader told her the truth about Vegeta’s abduction, it had chilled her to the core. And what was more, the timeline she’d pieced together after her discussion with Bardock had led her deeper into the rabbit hole of events surrounding the incident. 

Stars hovered above the mountains in the distance. Bulma could count on one hand how many times in her life she’d seen them this brilliant. Maybe when they reached their destination, she would pull Vegeta aside and lay out everything she knew. For now, though, she enjoyed the feeling of his arms around her waist and the breeze in her hair.

===============

Bulma blinked. Had that been a set of headlights in the distance? It had disappeared over a hill the moment she set eyes on it. She couldn’t take the chance. Muttering a string of curses, she hit the brakes and shut off the lights, cutting the engine as soon as they’d rolled to a stop. The echoes dissipated, and Bulma tilted her head sideways, putting an ear to the night air.

There was no hum of tires, no rev of a combustion engine. It had to be a hovercar.

And a hovercar this far out of the city meant trouble.

“See something?” Vegeta grunted. 

She put her finger to her lips, shaking her head. “Do you hear that?” 

He stood silent, mentally recalibrating his auditory processors. He’d almost missed it, but it was there: the faintest _whir_ of an electric motor--and it was getting closer. He nodded sharply.

“Okay. Help me get this thing down into the ditch,” she whispered, dismounting and putting it into neutral. They rolled it together. It was a heavy thing, made of the heavy metals of a bygone era instead of the light, durable carbon fibres of the modern one. But she had a super-soldier on her side, and they managed to get it out of sight just in time. 

“Get down, they’re coming,” Vegeta said, pulling her by the wrist and diving for cover. 

Bulma’s heart hammered in her chest. Even with his superior reflexes and strength, Vegeta wouldn’t be of any use if they were prepared for him. Things could get very messy, very fast if they were caught. She pressed herself against him--to make their mass as small as possible, of course--feeling his heat radiating from his core. 

They dismounted and pulled the bike down to the ditch, crouching in wait as the other vehicle made its approach. Bulma’s heart hammered in her chest. Even with Vegeta’s superior reflexes and strength, things could get very messy, very fast if they were caught. 

The vehicle careened past them. Bulma didn’t dare let out her breath; they weren’t out of the woods yet. “We should stay down here a bit to be safe. Bardock would rather us get to the rendezvous late and in one piece.” 

“A sound tactic,” Vegeta muttered. 

Bulma crawled over to the bike and pulled open one of the saddlebags. “I was feeling a bit peckish, anyway. I brought you a portable charger, by the way.”

“When did you make this?” 

“When you were out. It was a simple matter of repurposing some of my existing stuff. It won’t last you very long, just until we can get you to a proper charging station.” 

They leaned against the bike, with Vegeta occasionally performing a visual check with his superior night vision augments. “Still nothing,” he said after the fifth check. “I think we should be clear.”

Bulma nodded. “Alright, let’s hit the road, then.” 

He stood watching her repack the saddlebags with an expression hovering on the angry side of neutral. “What did you and Bardock talk about that night you were installing my charging station in your lab?” he blurted out as if he’d gotten tired waiting for the right moment to ask.

“You,” she answered truthfully after a long pause, carefully formulating mental responses to his follow-up questions. 

“What about me?” 

She cocked her head at him and tried to summon a smile. “What we’re going to do with you once you’re back on your feet, of course.” 

“What do you know about my past?”

“Only as much as Bardock will tell me. Vegeta, you’re agitated. What’s wrong?” 

His lip curled and he looked away. “Why won’t you tell _me_? Why are you hiding it? I have the right to know my own history.” 

Bulma deflated. Had this been on his mind the whole trip? She couldn’t help but feel guilty for withholding the information, no matter how much heartache it would cause him. “I’ve _told_ you why. You need to remember on your own. And you know I’ll be here for you when you do.” 

With a sigh, he seemed to acquiesce her point and helped her get the bike back on the road.


	13. Failsafe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to lisac1965 for giving this a read-over before posting. <3

June 28, 2096  
Project Saiyajin  
Overseer’s Office

After he put the finishing touches on the mindbomb, as he’d dubbed it, Zarbon leaned back in his chair with a glass of his promised champagne. Sure, he’d started celebrating a little early, but the plan was as good as executed. There was little else to do but wait. The Director would be pleased.

>Authorization code Zeta-delta-seven-six-two  
>Override program Victor-echo-gamma-seven-four-six  
>Uplink program parameters: Victor-echo-gamma-seven-four-seven  
>Input new activation sequence: Bravo-uniform-lima-Mike-alpha  
>On-activation: initiate autonomic override, initiate return protocol;  
>Program termination upon successful recall.

===============

June 28, 2096  
Somewhere South of West City  
Railroad Rendezvous Point

The sun had just risen above the horizon when they began their descent into the valley. Vegeta didn’t need his memories to tell him he’d never been this far outside the skyscrapers and neon lights of West City. The world felt new here. 

When they reached the lowest point, Bulma hung a right on a little lane leading between fields of crops. “We actually made good time,” she called back to him, slowing and turning again down a long private drive. 

An idyllic red barn came into view around the fields and she looked both ways before riding directly inside. The enormous double doors swung shut behind them.

Alarm bells went off in the back of Vegeta’s mind when he saw Bardock and Goku standing alone. Something wasn’t right. There were no other operatives in sight. 

“You made it,” Bardock greeted, as they dismounted. He turned to Bulma. “Thank you for bringing him. Everything’s ready in the back room.” 

Bulma shot Vegeta a big smile, but her eyes didn’t crinkle. “One last checkup before we can clear you for the field,” she said, beckoning him to follow her to the cordoned-off space. It was comprised of draped plastic sheets, lit from within by bright xenon lamps. 

“Actually, Bulma, Korin just got here. He can do the checkup; I need to debrief you.” 

Her fake smile faltered. “Okay. Are you sure? It won’t take long-”

“I’m sure.” 

She turned to Vegeta. “Alright, you go see Korin and I’ll meet with you after I’m done, okay? Maybe you and Goku can spar in the meantime.” 

Goku perked up at the mention of his name and sparring in the same sentence and nodded enthusiastically. He led Vegeta to the back as Bulma followed Bardock into the converted hayloft. “Wait here. Korin must be outside; dad’s been communicating with everyone through the uplink since we all took separate routes to get here.” 

Vegeta apprehensively sat on the edge of the cot. It took a long moment to realize it wasn’t any of his sensors going haywire, it was his intuition. Suddenly, his stomach felt like it was filled with rocks. Every hair on the back of his neck raised at once. He shot to his feet at the same time Bulma cried out, “Vegeta!” 

He tore through the curtains in time to see her crumple to the ground with a needle in her neck.

===============

Trust. It was such a fragile thing. As Vegeta watched Bardock lower Bulma to the floor, he knew his decision not to trust the man had paid off. The man stared right at him.

“Dad, where’s Kor-” Goku asked, stepping back inside and cutting himself off when he took in the scene before him. “What the _fuck_ happened to Bulma!” His eyes shot immediately to Vegeta, scrutinized his shocked expression, and then turned to his father. “Dad? What’s going on?” 

A high-pitched buzzing started in the back of Vegeta’s mind. 

Bardock. That damned ESP. Did he also have the ability to _control_ minds? The older man was looking right at him with steely determination in his eyes. He was going to murder him. 

The whine grew louder. Vegeta couldn’t think. He had to rescue Bulma, but that would be impossible. He fell to his knees. “Goku-” he whispered, turning to the younger version of his enemy, eyes pleading. “Save her.” 

He blacked out.

>Connection successful  
Activate program Victor-echo-gamma-seven-four-seven bravo-uniform-lima-Mike-alpha  
Reading...  
Activation successful  
Mission parameters updated: return to Project headquarters  
Timeframe: immediate

Internal communication via uplink   
Authorization V-732  
To: Project Saiyajin Core; Director  
Subject: Tactical Update  
June 28, 2096

>V-732 reporting  
>Mission update acknowledged  
>Calibrating GPS  
>Current location: Porunga County  
>Distance to West City: 280km  
>Estimated time of arrival: 14:37 >V-732 signing off

June 28, 2096  
Porunga County  
Guru Farms

>Scanning...  
Subjects identified: Railroad operatives.  
Threat level: Minimal.  
Course of action: ignore.

V-732 took to his feet and marched for the barn doors. He shattered them with a mighty kick, sending wood and detritus flying in every direction. His HUD scanned the landscape and located an old, outdated vehicle. A motorcycle. The keys were still in the ignition.

“Wait!” somebody called out behind him. 

V-732 paid them no heed. He had places to be.

===============

July 2, 2096  
ColdCorp Headquarters  
Director’s Office

“You’re absolutely certain?” the Director asked, his tone sneering and high-pitched in its condescension. 

Zarbon nodded. “Yes, Director Frieza. Every test has been successful with no deviation from his established baseline. I can submit him to Dodoria for further examination, if you’d like...” 

The Director waved his hand dismissively. “No, no. You seem to know what you’re doing.” His voice was light and airy, the way it got when he meant the exact opposite of what he said. “But if you fail me again,” he added, leaning forward in his chair menacingly, “I will hang your head on a pike.” 

“Understood, sir,” Zarbon replied. 

“Good. Now, send him in, would you?”

===============

“And if you continue performing highly,” the Director continued, waving his small, perfectly manicured hands in the air to punctuate his statement. “You’ll be assigned below-ground. I can imagine the above-ground duties will be something of a… _disaster_.” He fiddled with a data module, flipping it between his fingers like a pen in his boredom.

“I can provide a full, detailed report on each mission I have completed up until the end of April of this year. My memory files do not show activity for May and June.” 

The Director raised his eyebrow in faux surprise. “Oh? And do you know why that is?” 

“I underwent tactical upgrades and a full process overhaul,” V-732 replied. “This refit makes me an excellent candidate for your program, sir.” 

A wicked smile played across the Director’s lips. “Why yes, I think it does. Upload this to your core during your next recharge cycle and see me in the morning.” He slid the module across his desk and watched the unit with an unreadable expression. “Sweet dreams, V-732.”

===============

Data upload complete.  
>Access data file for “Operation: Dragon’s Fire”  
Accessing…  
Displaying information for “Operation: Dragon’s Fire”  
Objective: Cleanse the surface of filth and corruption  
Activation code: [redacted]  
Method of transmission: Nationwide government alert systems via WCN Broadcast towers; International Distant Early Warning systems via programmed backdoor  
Protocol for clearance level Theta-Seven: Upon receipt of alert, terminate all actions and report to underground bunker immediately. 

===============

V-732 was certain there was a malfunction in his programming. Sometimes, he’d disengage from his recharging station in the middle of the night with the phantom sensation of fingers ghosting over his skin. It would be best not to mention it; he’d seen his predecessors deactivated for less. But that wasn’t all. There was a repeating line of code sent to his uplink every thirty minutes that never showed up on his baseline tests.

He reinitiated the charging sequence, and just as his eyes fluttered closed, it came through again.

Come home, Vegeta. I miss you. I can help.  
Love, Bulma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Book One. 
> 
> Keep an eye out for Tech Noir, the thrilling sequel to Revel (In Our Time) which will follow Bulma and Vegeta's journey back to each other in a race against the doomsday clock. 
> 
> A huge HUGE HUGE HUGE thank you to everyone who's supported the Vegebul Mini Bang creators throughout the duration of this event! You guys have been absolutely amazing and I'm so humbled to be part of such a supportive, loving community. I look forward to working with all of you again in future Vegebul-centric events. Y'all amazin' <3


End file.
